Malachite Path
by Lazov
Summary: A forking of the paths will be unavoidable, the choice will be given and the presence of more than one person close to him would bring an abrupt change. A change none could have foreseen. How much will intent truly matter? How much would he willingly change?
1. Chapter 1

He sorely regretted taking this route, but he knew of no other way. No other way to reach Ottery St. Catchpole's village. No other way than the Knight Bus. It was a brief contemplation on whether asking Eagala to threaten the driver and conductor of the damn thing to drive slower would be seen as unlawful or perhaps malicious intent for coercion. Just a fleeting thought, no more. However it had been immensely amusing when the conductor nearly soiled himself after Eagala decided to make her displeasure known by hissing at him from close proximity. The blasted thing sped away as fast as it came here.

Still, there was one bonus to him arriving here. Already, he could feel the ambient magic of the village blanketing him, tingling his senses. He had read about places like this, scattered around many locales in Britain, places where no muggle could go, where they could not encroach, where magic flowed more freely, signifying that it had been inhabited before by witches and wizards, and possibly other creatures of magic as well. Wasting no time, his wand slipped from its holster, the warmth emanating from it spreading through his whole body from the barest of touches, and he tapped his trunk twice, shrinking it down to a manageable size before placing it in his pocket.

In his trek through the village he had come across a fairly large number of witches and wizards, of all ages. For a reason he couldn't comprehend, he was even trailed by a small group of them, most likely it was a game of sorts played, what with their looks indicating an age the same as his or even younger. When one of them decided to come a little closer, closer to invading his personal space, Eagala decided a good fright was in order and emerged from beneath his clothes, draping herself across his shoulders, much of her body still clinging around his chest. The squeak of panic that erupted from the young witch set the others running, and Hadrian couldn't help but share a laugh with Eagala, thanking her for the intervention, he'd have preferred not to use magic on small children like those to simply shoo them away. She conveyed her enjoyment of the little one's fear and retreated back beneath his clothing.

It didn't take him much before he reached his destination; a house with so many odd angles, with more height than width, with numerous windows and but one door that coated the front of it. It stood a small distance away from the main part of the village, yet not so far away that taking a journey back to it would tire one out. Surprising himself, there was a small amount of anxiety reverberating through his being. Though Luna's father may have been slightly out there with his mind, he was still her parent, and there was rarely an adult, aside from Yvanna and possibly Professor Snape, who approved of him. One exhale later, he knocked on the door.

Minutes passed, seeming like hours and ages to him, before the door finally opened. The man that towered above him could be easily recognized as Luna's father, though the soft brown robes he wore seemed a bit worn and there was an overdressed issue when it came to the trinkets that hanged off his neck. Unlike her, however, his hair was not that of true silver, but rather the white of those prematurely aged. Lanky was another word which could be used to describe him. Now that he saw the man, he could easily see traces of him in Luna's face, the way they both shared the same pale pink lips, the eyes, his perhaps a more vibrant blue than hers, even the faint eyebrows. His complexion on the other hand was quite normal, so that must have come from the other parent, her late mother. Now was not the time for detailed observation, so Hadrian inclined his head once towards the man and introduced himself.

"Good day, sir. I'm Hadrian Potter," he spoke in his most polite tone.

"We're not buying anything!" confusion and panic showed on the man's face, before the door slammed shut.

Another few minutes passed, before they opened again, spectacles sitting on the man's nose now, staring at Hadrian as if not quite sure if he was real.

"Oh so sorry, lad, I didn't see you there before!" the man hastily spoke the words, anxiety simply radiating from his presence, "Got a bit of a problem with traveling salesmen, buggers won't take "no" for an answer. Come in, come in, Luna's out in the village, buying some groceries."

Practically shooed inside, Hadrian subdued a tug on his lips that threatened to turn into a smile at the man's odd behavior. Once he was fully inside, in the first hallway, it didn't seem like the insides of the house matched its outside appearance. Before he could observe some more, he was then led into what he presumed to be the living room of the house, proving that the inside completely differed in dimensions and space from the outside. A fleeting thought of _'I love magic'_ passed through his head at the sight. Promptly, he was deposited in one of the armchairs that sat near a desk, which was crowded with numerous papers.

"Sorry, lad, forgot to introduce meself. Xenophilius Lovegood," he said, stretching an arm towards Hadrian, who was puzzled for a moment by the gesture, before he extended his own and shook hands with the older man.

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

They sat in an awkward silence for a minute or two, before it was broken by Xenophilius with a statement-question, "My little moonbeam tells me you met at Hogwarts. Same House, eh?"

Hadrian smiled at the affectionate nickname the man had for Luna, before he answered the question, "Yes, sir. We met during the Yule holidays, in the library. And sadly no, she's in Ravenclaw, as you are, no doubt, well aware, while I'm in Slytherin," he finished, his tone of words clearly indicating which was the unfortunate House placement of the two, and waited for the inevitable scrutiny once the word _'Slytherin'_ left his mouth. It didn't happen, surprisingly enough, for whatever reason. Before their conversation could go any further, the sound of the front door being opened reached the living room, with a familiar voice announcing its arrival.

"Daddy, I'm home."

"In here, dear," her father called out to her, "We have a guest."

The words apparently set off Luna as she came into the living room rather quickly, her eyes scouring across it before they came to rest on Hadrian's presence. There was a wide smile on her face, a smile that told many things without voicing the actual words. He rose up and went to greet her properly.

"Hello, little moonbeam," he couldn't resist teasing the younger witch.

"You came," was her whispered reply, before she flung herself against him and held him in a rather tight embrace.

"Easy there, Luna, think of Eagala," he managed to voice before running out of air and she backed away, looking away shyly, "I told you I would come, I promised."

And so began the summer that would change them both. For better or for worse, it remained to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days was all it took, to become accustomed to the rather hectic schedule of waking up and activities in the house during the day. There was no specified hour when they should be in bed, just the general feeling of tiredness when they would each retreat to their rooms and sleep for the night. Hadrian had settled into one of the guest rooms they had in the house, rather dusty it was when he first entered it, but a bit of his and Luna's magic made it quickly habitable. It was a sight to behold unto itself, for he had never seen her practice magic around him, despite all of their time spent at Hogwarts. They never shared classes, so he could not witness even that small thing.

Now, when she wielded her hawthorn wand, his senses recognized the magic that flowed out from it as a unique thing, one that was solely Luna and nothing else. His magical perception was still a fresh thing for him, one that would be thoroughly explored whenever he had the chance, but ever since that day, since the third sacrifice he had become more aware of magic, his own and that of others. Some had a subdued presence, some had barely any at all, while others couldn't contain themselves properly and infringed on his still developing sense, inadvertently making him irritable to their presence. Now was not the time for such thoughts however. Now was the time for opportunities.

It was a good thing that Luna lived in a magical community, thus allowing her to take advantage of the loophole in the underage practice of magic law, where her individual magic could not be detected by the Ministry, for Hadrian had much to show her, much to teach her. He knew it was an impossibility to spend every moment by her side, and that it would lead to a weakness she could not afford. What happens when he might not be able to reach her, when some others decided she was fair game once more? That would not be allowed to happen. He would tear them apart once they've done the deed, but that would not help her heal the wounds any more quickly, the wounds to her self-esteem, to her own worth, more so than whatever physical harm they might inflict. He needed to share a certain book's knowledge with her.

Days turned into weeks, weeks of joy for both of them. Around the house, Hadrian helped gladly, for once doing the housework, the house chores, for a friend, for himself, rather than being forced, _enslaved_, to do another's bidding. More than a few times he had joined Luna in the kitchen, the homey chaos that it was, helping her prepare one of the meals for the day. Aside from the time they spent together, revising schoolwork, finishing summer assignments, talking or simply wandering the nearby small patches of wilderness, they had also been studying. Of sorts. Hadrian found a joy within himself for something he never knew existed before; teaching. He'd never been a child that stood out amongst others with his academics in the muggle primary school that he attended, good or outstanding grades outshone the blubber that was his cousin, and earned him punishment rather than praise, as it should have been. In Hogwarts, he was allowed to be himself, to exercise his full potential, to go to the library, to gain knowledge and use it as he saw fit.

Here with Luna, he found himself teaching her the theory of magic, the theory of intent, of willpower and emotions that served as fuel for magic, of spells that they would not learn in the Hogwarts curriculum, but ones that would serve a purpose nonetheless. Here, he taught her the mysteries of the Brown Book, for the words that resided in it stayed with him, never ebbing away from his mind, and if needed be, the book itself was within easy reach should he require it. And Luna, Ravenclaw that she was, simply absorbed the knowledge, and what's more, she understood it. It didn't take much before he understood why the Hat saw her fit to be placed in the House where those who sought out knowledge dwelled, even though many of them deserved to suffer under his wand rather than share the same space with her. He kept these thoughts subdued, for now, though they did come up more frequently than usual. Perhaps a side-effect of using so much harmful magic on others? It didn't matter, it was under control, and they were just fleeting thoughts.

Unknowingly, a practical test presented itself for Luna, one that not even Hadrian could have anticipated. In one of the days, mid-July, they had ventured together into the village, to renew their groceries supply. Hadrian had contributed his fair share of eating into them, and Luna did tease him for it a bit, which actually made him cheerful, saying how it was alright, what with him being a growing boy. It was good to see the girl smiling about, being more at ease outside of Hogwarts than he ever saw her within that old castle. At one point, they had separated, she went off to the local bakery and he to the butcher, since he planned on trying to make some black pudding by himself tonight as a little treat, and perhaps as a small way of trying to coerce Luna into trying some. He had quickly finished haggling with the older witch in the butcher-shop for the price of meat he would require, thus giving him ample time to roam a bit more around while Luna talked with the girls in the bakery. He had no inclination of going in there again, having already made the mistake once and there he earned the experience of how chatty teenage girls could be. It wasn't the teasing that he minded, it was just the incessant, mindless, pointless chatter that they produced at an exuberant rate which irritated him. But Luna enjoyed talking with the girls, and they with her, so he didn't wish to spoil the weekly experience for her. To each their own, as they say.

After traversing the quaint village, which seemed so similar and yet so different in many ways when compared to muggle architecture, he found himself heading towards the bakery to meet up with Luna. Just a small distance away from the shop, he saw something which unconsciously made his upper lip twitch with disgust. A familiar group of redheads hovered around the entrance of the shop. His wand, which was never truly that far away, slid down within the comfort of his long sleeved shirt, the summer sun and the heat it brought not making it unbearable via a liberal application of cooling charms, and almost reached into his hand. For precaution's sake, naturally. Not like he planned on hitting them from behind without just cause. Hadrian stopped just a short distance from the entrance, easing himself against a nearby wall, watching them and waiting for Luna to emerge from the shop.

And that she did soon after, a bag in her hands filled to the top with various bakery products, though the smile she wore to the outside faltered slightly once she saw who was in front of the shop, before she reaffirmed it, keeping a mask firmly in place no matter what might have been going on inside of her head. The group noticed her but said nothing aside from mumbled greetings. _'No insults, huh, must be a great feat for a Weasley.'_

Then it happened, she spotted him standing against the wall and waved to him, thus making the others turn their heads towards him, and he graced them with a smile. A smile filled with all the falsehood he could muster, a smile that held no kindness in it.

"Ready to go back, Luna?" he said while moving away from the wall and towards the entrance.

"Yes, I think I've managed to buy just enough to last us another week before we need to go out again," Luna replied and made her way through the group in front of her, as if they were but mere fog to be pushed aside. Naturally, their exchange hadn't gone unnoticed and someone just _had_ to say something.

"Oi, L-Lovegood," the stutter implied what he wanted to speak initially, correcting himself from doing so, but not restraining from committing further stupidity, "Why'd you bring that slimy git here?"

Before either of them could reply to Ronald Weasley, the twin redheads, that stood behind him, smacked him on the back of his head, simultaneously.

"Now, now ickle Ronniekins, haven't you—," one twin started.

"— learned your lesson yet?" and the other finished.

"Do you really want to—"

"— go a whole day without eyelids again when—"

"— you can simply avoid it by—"

"— shutting up?"

The disconcerting way of conversation that the twins had aside, Hadrian couldn't miss out on seeing how irritated the youngest boy Weasley in the bunch was becoming.

"You told me you weren't responsible for that!" he fumed at them.

"We weren't, ickle Ronnie, but you—"

"— can't seem to get it through your thickish head, and it is quite a thick one—"

"— too true, brother o' mine —"

"— quite thick indeed, that it was your mouth that got you—"

"— in that mess, in the first place."

If Hadrian was someone who was prone to applauding, he would have done so right now for them figuring out it was him, without even being in the classroom. The incident they had brought up had taken him a few days to prepare, having observed where Ronald Weasley usually reached for ingredients in Potions, and switching out a few of them for something completely else, combined with a spell he sent towards his cauldron, resulted in him losing his eyelids. Harmless? Yes. Fear inducing? Yes. As before, when he told of it to Luna the first time, so she giggled now. Another bout of giggling erupted, this time from the group, and Hadrian now noticed the youngest of Weasleys, the former friend of Luna's. He felt mild aggravation at seeing the girl, something in him reacted rather negatively, but it went unseen by all as he kept it subdued on the inside, allowing none of it to show on his face which currently displayed amusement.

Then the scarlet weasel turned on its most predictable mark.

"You!" the boy tried to sound angry, tried to snarl, but his voice came out too softly, cracking in the middle, and Hadrian decided that was an appropriate time to laugh. The sound provoked the other boy to lunge for him, but before he could even reach across that minute distance he found himself flung back and hitting the wall of the bakery, causing the few passerbys to look at them, as well as some commotion to be heard from the inside of the bakery itself.

Perhaps everyone expected it was Hadrian who cast the spell, but his hands were clearly bereft of the branch-like ebony wand. Thus they turned to the girl standing next to him. Hadrian would later on go into further introspection of this moment, when he could not deny how different Luna looked when she wielded her magic to protect him, to punish the offender. For the first time ever, her own magic spiked, mimicking in the ways how his would behave, yet not completely identical. Hers was a far sharper taste on the senses now, far more sudden, no uncoiling, it was perhaps best described akin to a thorn hidden behind a flower's petals, surprising you with its presence only once you've been pricked. Unexpected, but sharp, pain inducing and terrifyingly beautiful to behold once it tasted blood. Figuratively speaking, of course. Her eyes lost none of that far-away look in them, and the words she spoke next contained such sweet venom.

"Bilius," she started, the dreamy quality absent from her voice, her focus solely on the _here_ and _now_, "You might want to refrain from touching my friend or attempting anything towards him, unless you wish for more than your eyelids to vanish. Bilius, what a vile name it is, don't you agree Hadrian?" she turned her heads towards him, but her grey-colored wand remained fixated on the now slowly rising from the ground up form of Ronald Weasley.

"Quite, Bilius, the bile inducing, I dub him!" he joined in the festivities with a laughter of his own, and was joined in by Luna while the other parties remained silent. Though it did seem that the twins were sporting small smirks.

"You're gonna get expelled for that!" the words finally broke past that fleshy cage he called mouth.

"Oh? Will she now, Bilius?" Hadrian uttered the words, acid accompanying each syllable, "Tell me something, why would she be expelled?"

The redheaded boy was now up and about, not even bothering to clean off the dust and dirt that stuck to his rather muggle looking clothes, "She used magic, we're not allowed to use magic during the summer, it's against the law," the tone of his voice clearly implied he gave no concern about the law, only the smugness that someone he disliked would be punished for whatever reason that may be. The next words he grumbled or mumbled, pick a term, were not nearly as silent as he thought they were.

"Then allow me join her in expulsion," this time the ebony wand did slide fully down and into his waiting hand, a whispered _Morsus_, though no less strong in its intensity, striking at the boy's mouth, swelling the lips up in a matter of seconds, the red mark nearly reaching up to his nostrils, and swallowing up whatever scream of pain the boy wanted to make, "Your brothers warned you, Weasley, about keeping your mouth shut. So there, I helped you. You really ought to be grateful."

Before more could be spoken on the subject matter by any of present company, a new presence joined in from the insides of the bakery, the door flinging open with rather exuberant force. A homely looking, short in stature, making up in plump, witch, more ginger than red in hair, with a slightly wide face, a slightly larger than average nose adorning it, barely visible freckles scattered across that stretched skin, covering even the crow's feet, dressed in an odd mixture of of skirt, jumper and other items of questionable purpose. Her eyes quickly passed over the small group in front until they landed on the would-be-screaming form of Ron Weasley.

By the shriek she let out at seeing the boy, it was fairly easy to conclude this was the mother of the Weasleys. Looking at her now, Hadrian saw how perhaps Delinda Malfoy might have taunted the youngest Weasley boy for her roundish figure, but had she seen Vernon Dursley and his son, she would have retracted the comments about the imaginary 'porkiness' that the Weasley matriarch touted. Hadrian felt no compulsion to stay and state his reason for hexing her son or to subject Luna to what would surely be a one-sided shouting debate over what her son did or did not do. He had seen mothers like these in primary school, he had seen the lengths these women would go to, to protect their young. And he would feel seething hate, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Hate, envy... all those pesky little things that come crawling up to the surface when they're least welcomed.

So he took Luna by the hand and led her away from there, a small charm set to hover over them to avoid attention the babbling woman would surely attract with her wailing and possibly screeching. Judging by how her shoulders relaxed, she wanted to get away from the spot as well, albeit perhaps for a different reason. After all, once upon a time she shared a friendship of sorts with the Weasley girl, she'd told Hadrian as much. In that passing thought, while his and Luna's feet trailed the path back to the house, he found the cause for his dislike of the girl, the girl who abandoned Luna when she was all alone in the House of Ravens, without a friend or a kind word spoken to her by others.

"That was a splendid _Jacio_ back there, Luna," he spoke words to move her mind away from whatever worry it might have been occupying itself with, "But I do think you could trace the circle slightly wider before stabbing its center to cast it, it might help with the strength of the spell."

"Will you show me how?" she asked, but there lied another question behind it, a question she wanted to voice but didn't want to appear too greedy, too clingy to her only friend, yet the words found themselves leaving her lips anyway, "Will you show me more spells?"

He knew what she meant by that, he knew that perhaps this minor confrontation was a spark, a reminder of how brutish some people were, how crude, how vulgar, how utterly undeserving of even the most basic kind thought. His reply was just one word, one which would further Luna's own study into the spells that helped Hadrian survive thus far.

"Yes."

* * *

A knock was heard on the door. Followed by a series, more intensive and distressing, of knocks. It was expected, and Hadrian was glad that Luna's father had taken yet another unannounced leave from the house to scour through the sparse wilderness nearby, in search of the creatures that only he believed in.

Taking a quick look at the clock in the kitchen, he saw there was ample time to deal with whatever came his way and to not upset Luna in the process, who was upstairs and deeply engrossed in the book he gave to her. Out came the wand, settling between his fingers as he began casting several privacy charms on the first floor of the house, preventing sound from coming out and alerting him should someone be coming into the house or down from the upper floors. The spells cast and he reassured that dinner would not be burnt, Hadrian went towards the door and opened it just as another knock was about to lay down upon it.

Sure enough, there stood Mrs. Weasley, though in a bit more distinguishable outfit than the one from earlier today. Affixed upon Hadrian's face was the most neutral mask he ever wore, determined to not make the first move, should a verbal confrontation be unavoidable.

"Yes?"

* * *

Molly Weasley had fumed at first. Upon hearing the commotion outside the bakery, she just assumed it had been her two sons, Fred and George, playing tricks upon a passerby or their brother and sister, Ronald and Ginny. When the commotion intensified in volume, she turned her head towards the window to see what was happening. What she saw was her youngest son flying through the air, a short distance only, before he hit upon the bakery's wall. That alone elicited a gasp of concern from the older witch, but before she even moved towards the door, to rush to her son's side, another spell streaked through the air and struck him on the mouth. Abandoning her bags and orders in the bakery, Molly rushed outside and quickly pushed aside the rest of her children to make sure that Ronald was alright.

Then the tale of what had happened was told, though not by her son, who would have trouble speaking or eating for this day at least, while Arthur went out and fetched some salve from Diagon's apothecary for the swelling. Never before could she have imagined that a Potter, of all families, could end up in Slytherin. Fred and George told her very little of the boy, what with being in a different House and older than him, but they had told her that Ronald had the most interaction with him, though not always entirely pleasant. Or truth be told, it wasn't pleasant at all. Ever. Percy had then joined into the conversation in the kitchen when he arrived for a spot of lunch with the rest of them, adding his own two sickles. According to him, Potter was trouble. He often got into fights with other students, only from other Houses, though not many would ever tell a teacher that much, seemingly afraid of further attacks from him, his 'pranks', if one could call them as such, were more malicious in their intent than humorous and he had a great hostility for anything Gryffindor.

Slytherin. Molly was always one of those who believed that House had no place at Hogwarts, despite how gentle and kind she might have been in her general nature. That House always bred more than just a few rotten apples, more like it seemed to cultivate them. And now they got their nasty hands on the Potter's child, corrupting him. She knew the Potters, James and Lily, back during the war, back when they had just discovered they'd be having a child of their own after so many tries already. They were good, decent people, people you would never find in Slytherin. Still, she could not blame the child for his House placement, goodness knows that old Hat made mistakes before, it wasn't perfect, and more than just one child had been misplaced.

She had let her initial state of upset cool off, not wanting to slip up and assail a child for no good reason. Granted, her Ron was less than kind with his words towards the poor Lovegood girl, but that didn't excuse the spells that were cast at him. So she waited a few hours, a little bit before time for dinner approached, to make her way across the village and towards the Lovegood home.

When the door finally opened after more than just a few knocks, the sight that greeted her quite honestly surprised her and stunned her into a short silence. Standing there before her, in a white shirt, sleeves pulled up, a dark green vest across it and black trousers was the Potter boy. Harry Potter. She had only seen him once or twice before, when he was still a baby, so the boy standing before her was quite the picture. He seemed more alike the haughty, bigoted heir of the older pureblood families that tended to look down upon her and hers, than the offspring of a muggleborn witch. A pale face is how one could have described him, framed by a few strands of dark hair that fell from the sides, while the rest of them were held together by something from behind, though the boy's eyes did tend to stand out, even with how hidden they were behind the glasses. He expressed nothing at seeing her, his face remaining impassive as it was.

"Yes?"

"Hello, dearie," she started in her most kindest voice, not noticing a brief flicker of annoyance in the boy's eyes at the endearment, "Is Mr. Lovegood perhaps home? I'd like to have a word with him."

"He's out and about, though he should be back within the hour. You could come in and wait for him, if you wish."

She followed after the boy, who was already reaching her height and would most likely eclipse it before another summer came, until he finally came to a stop in the middle of a living room. It bore traces of disorganized chaos, yet a semblance of order laid beneath it. There was a subtle urge within her to whisk her wand out and clean up the place, tidy it up and then scold, kindly, whoever made the mess.

"Please, sit," the words were spoken calmly, hand indicating where she might wish to sit down.

They both sat, and then spent a minute or two in awkward silence, before she finally decided to breach it.

"I'm Molly Weasley, dear, you've met my boys already, Fred, George and Ron."

"And Percival," he added, the distaste for the oh so perfect Prefect Percival absent from his voice.

"Yes, Percy too, I imagine," she smiled, as if him bringing Percy up was a compliment of sorts to her, "Though I'm here mainly for Ron, he's had a spot of trouble with you, hasn't he?"

"You could describe it as such if you wish, Mrs. Weasley," this time the distaste seeped through, evident to even Molly's not so keen observation skills.

"You're both just so young, I can't understand why you'd be fighting so much. And this today," she shook her head, "You shouldn't have done that, Harry."

The previous impassive mask slipped and for the first time that night his face showed open annoyance, "It's Hadrian. And I'd prefer you not address me by my first name at all, Mrs. Weasley, that is a privilege I give only to my friends," the absent _'and family'_ hung in the air for a second before he continued, "And yes, I should have. It was warranted. It is not the first time your son has run his mouth too much. Time after time, he does it. I don't care much for what he says about me nor Luna and I have no intention of letting him keep on in the delusion that when he expresses vulgarity towards either of us that he will go unpunished," he paused before he continued, determination easily felt in every word he spoke, "Luna never once deserved his harsh words, her fault, in his eyes, was being friends with me and I will not allow a petulant child, so starved for affection and attention, to belittle her."

Molly had to blink a few times, just to make sure that perhaps she was not being fooled by something, a trick of the eye, or a glamor. A boy of twelve should not speak so cold, so dispassionate in one word and passionate in another. She collected herself in haste and spoke again.

"I realize my son has perhaps to learn a few things about manners and such, but that hardly warrants hexing him."

"A few things about manners? He needs more than that, and apparently no one is providing any of it," came the scathing words out of the child's mouth.

"Young man, I will not be spoken to in such a way!" her temper got the better of her, the insult to her family striking against her very being.

"Hmm, perhaps I've been wrong," the boy seemed thoughtful for a moment, "Perhaps he has learned this behavior from someone after all, perhaps it's not _just_ a lack of manners."

"Your pare—," the words were out of her mouth faster than her mind could process where it would have ended.

"Do not allow yourself to finish whatever you were going to say about my parents," if what he said before seemed cold, it was a mild cold, while these words carried with them the promise of frostbite and limb-loss. He rose up from his seat, looking down on her with obvious scorn and disdain, "I think you should leave."

She followed after him, thoughts about having a conversation with Xenophilius whisked away with the need to think over what just happened, over how such a young boy, a child, could be so cold, so intense in hate for her and hers.

* * *

The fat and obnoxious matriarch of the Weasley family finally left and Hadrian breathed out one long breath of relief, while he leaned on the shut door with his back. Always. They always bring them up. The two that made him, the one who fathered him, the other who birthed him. And his magic always reacted the same. The need, _the want_, to inflict pain and humiliation on the culprit. Why couldn't they just leave the dead in peace? He'd done so. But then again, what other choice there was? To go after Dumbledore? McGonagall? He'd sooner snap his wand in two than ask any favors, any information about his parents, from those two. A light headache was incoming, the pressure in his head indicated as much. With a swish of his wand, the privacy charms had been removed and he'd moved back into the kitchen. Where Luna sat. The ward he set up didn't tell him of anyone coming down, so that meant... she was there all the time.

"Thank you," she voiced so quietly he might have thought it was just his imagination, if it weren't for the bashful look she gave him.

Honest confusion colored his words, "For what?"

She raised her head, the eyes glimmering with something unknown to him, "For all that you said about me. Standing up for me. All of it. All the time."

Confusion gone, replaced by a soft smile, he moved towards her seat, moving behind her and putting his arms around her, making her lean into him as her backrest, just as Yvanna did to him to provide comfort, playfully tangling up a few of his fingers into her long silvery hair.

"It was the simple truth, Luna. I'll never allow anyone to speak of you like that, you don't deserve it."

"I know, it's just...," her words carried wistfulness in them.

"Just what, Luna?"

He sensed, rather than saw, how she closed her eyes before speaking, "I'm afraid you'll grow tired of it one day. Tired of me."

In that moment he realized how lonely her existence must have been, how bereft of kind words, of people who would stand up for her, who would care for her. He knew because he had felt it more than once before, when he craved for a lost family member, who would come and scoop him away from the troubled place that others called his home, but to him was only a slave pen. When he wished someone, _anyone_, would come and be with him in that desolation of the body, mind and soul.

To her, it was even worse. A father whose physical presence might have been there, but whose mind wandered in places that were not _here_.

In that moment, more than just one tendril of his magic uncoiled, wrapping themselves, possessively, around Luna, soothing, easing the younger witch, trying to drain all her worries away. With her, it became less of an exasperation with each new time he did it. Whether it signified how close they had become, how comfortable they felt around one another, he didn't know. He didn't care. So long as the feeling persisted.

"Never, Luna. If nothing else is sure, then that one thing alone is a certainty. I'll be by your side, as long as you wish me to be. I promise."

"Always then?" the longing, the want, _the need_, could not be ignored nor denied.

The naked truth was the only possible response, "Always."


	3. Chapter 3

More days passed and the tables turned. As Hadrian sought to teach Luna the things he had learned in the past two years, so she sought to teach him some things that books could not tell him. Once, in the first year at Hogwarts, the Bloody Baron spoke of this particular subject, but never expanded much on it, only mentioning it in a few occasions.

She had sneaked upon him on one particular day, up in the attic of the house, which sported a rather large opening, covered by wooden doors in the ceiling, while he observed the stars. Something had made him get up from his bed and fish out the telescope from his trunk, something had made him want to stargaze for the simple act of it. In one moment when he had been looking upon one of the constellations, he was startled by a small _'Hello'_ from behind. Reflex, rather than reason, made the wand in his hand appear swiftly, before it was pushed back into its holster, once the presence had been identified as Luna.

"Couldn't sleep?" he inquired and received a nod in reply, "Want to have a peek?" his hand moved towards the telescope, angling it to adjust for her smaller size. Barefoot, in her night-clothes, she made her way over, a stuffed animal in one of her hands, while with the other she adjusted the brass instrument to her eye.

After a few minutes had passed, silence was broken.

"The stars are almost right," Luna said in her usual enigma-like fashion.

"Right for what?" he could only ask in return.

"Lughnasadh."

It went from there. Talk about that special day, one of the few in a solar cycle, one of the few days, back when her mother was still alive, when she would take her and her father out to the bilberry feast, to the reaffirmation of the bonding she had done with the man who fathered Luna, to the offering of the first fruit of the season, buried in the ground, offered to a faceless, shapeless, formless presence of Magic, to a drink at a holy well.

Luna was always at the most serene when she talked of these things, things which Hadrian had either very little or none knowledge about, as eager to teach him the knowledge not found in books, as eager as he was to teach her the knowledge found in one particular book.

Lughnasadh. Imbolc. Beltane. Samhain. Each day was a story for Luna, a memory of happier times. It pained her to talk of these things, to talk of the time when her mother was alive. It gave her joy to see the wonder upon Hadrian's face, knowing he was drinking up every word she spoke, truly hearing the words, understanding them, taking them close to his heart.

They had taken upon sitting on the hard wooden floor at first, before Hadrian transfigured a few of the many items laying about, which served no real purpose, into cushions. They sat and greeted the day while he was told, taught more like it, about the bonfires of Imbolc, about Beltane's purification and dance, about Samhain's sacrifice. About the vernal and autumnal equinox, about the summer and winter solstice, about Magic itself and the days it was more felt than known, reaching past the minds which contained the words for the enactment of its spells, its touch upon the mundane world vibrating in its very bones and dirt.

* * *

He should have seen it coming, but his mind was elsewhere; thinking, planning and worrying about certain things. Luna had never told him this, whether out of shame, embarrassment or guilt. Guilt for what, he could not tell. He happened across it when he was just entering into the house; a raised voice, shouting and demanding. His magic uncoiled, anticipating a conflict, an opportunity to vent, the ebony sliding into his hand on _need_ alone, like so many times before.

"You've seen them! I know you have! Tell me! Tell me! Where are they?!"

He didn't bother with the niceties, trying to ask the man to step away or threatening him harm should he not desist with his shouting. Seeing the harsh grip on Luna's thin arm, thinner than his own, invoked the raw sensation of an open wound he felt when Lockhart had seized her. However, reason still ruled him, so instead of blasting the man with the new spells the Brown Book had provided in its third unveiling, a single _Stupefy_ was sent his way, throwing him against one of the chairs and sending it tumbling over with the man's mass. Another spell, ___Incarcerous_, bound the man in his crumpled form, the ropes tightening just enough to cause discomfort when he later awoke, but not enough to prevent blood-flow.

He ignored the look of anguish, fear, guilt and whatever else the petite witch might have felt and exposed for everyone present to see, and quickly embraced her, forgoing his own apprehensions about physical contact. The silver-haired girl didn't restrain her sobs, burying her head in his chest, her own head laying beneath his chin as she sought comfort that he would gladly provide for her, whenever she asked or needed it.

No questions were asked of her as he led her up to his room and then setting her upon his bed, while he rummaged through his trunk for his school supplies for Potions. How much time passed was unclear, only that mattered in that moment was the brewing, watching each ingredient sink into the cauldron, watching the small fire he started with an _Incendio,_ careful that all fumes head outwards, out the window, careful that the potion achieved its grey shimmer before a vial was dipped in and filled to the half. That one done, he vanished the contents of the cauldron and set upon brewing another potion.

This one took him a full half an hour before it was done and he only hoped the girl that sat in stillness upon his bed wasn't too traumatized by the event that happened. Half an hour before the dull purple color signified it was finally ready. Another vial filled, this one to the top, before with yet another _Evanesco_ the contents of the cauldron vanished. He carried the two vials very carefully, in his hands, corks already sealing them from whatever might fall into them, and settled them into a small wooden appliance.

Before he could use the potions, a talk was needed first. He sat on his bed, taking one of the still trembling, now sickly pale, hands into his, rubbing it gently, providing some warmth, before asking the question.

"How long?"

The answer didn't come quickly, but he was patient, waiting it out, waited and waited until she finally spoke of her own volition.

"He doesn't mean to do that."

"How long, Luna?" he asked again and added, "Please," in a soft voice, a voice filled with kindness and sympathy.

"It started...," her voice sounded so dry, so hesitant to voice the truth, "A little before the Hogwarts letter came. He wasn't like that at first. He's not like it most of the time, it's just sometimes..."

A light switch came on in his mind, piecing together another part of the puzzle that was Luna Lovegood, "Was that why you stayed at Hogwarts for Yule? Were you afraid?"

No verbal reply this time, only a slight nod of her head before she leaned against his shoulder, and not for the last time he cursed his wiry-thin frame for being a most uncomfortable provider of support. Luna still found some comfort in that, in the silence, in the absence of further questions and he let her enjoy it for a while, before he gently pulled away and went towards the vials. A napkin was used in conjunction with the grey liquid that was made first, applying it on the cloth before he rolled up Luna's sleeve and witnessed the yellow coloration of an unformed bruise. Searing hate is what he felt for the man below, not merely contempt, but for Luna's sake he allowed none of it to show, it would only distress her.

He pressed the napkin, dabbed as it was with the potion, and rubbed it in small circles on the spot where the bruise was supposed to form. To make sure, he had kept this up for five consistent minutes, before moving onto the other arm and seeking out the place where another bruise was about to form. It might have passed quickly, when objectively looking at the time spent inside the room, but the time spent was more akin to passage of many hours, if not several days, with how slow things seemed to be happening. After making sure the skin absorbed the liquid appropriately, he rolled down her sleeve and looked her in the face, while he was in a position lower than her, on his knees, telling her it was going to be alright now.

The phrase was repeated numerous times, until the trembling stopped and she looked him in the eyes. So blue, so little of the gray he saw, the unshed tears clearly visible in the corners of her eyes. He took the other vial now and told her to lie on his bed, without bothering to ask her to change to her sleeping clothes, such issues were trivial at the moment. Luna laid her head down on the pillow and he slowly eased the vial onto her lips, the purple liquid fed to her in a slow drip until her eyes fluttered and something akin to words of gratitude were slurred in a murmured sentence. The dreamless dreamlands welcomed her.

Back to the cauldron he went, preparing a potion once more, this time for himself. This one took a bit more preparation, and more ingredients than the others, as it also acted as an antidote to that potion which enticed him with his name back on that first train ride to Hogwarts, the Draught of Living Death. This one could awaken someone from the slumber of false death or keep one awake for a long period. Right now, it was the latter which Hadrian required. Snake fangs, Billywig stings, aconite and a few portions of standard ingredients, a mixture of common herbs with basic magical properties. The aconite was the problem, he didn't have that much in supply, and he could only hope he didn't require it again in the near future, before he could return to Knockturn for renewing his supplies. Some time later, the mixture in the cauldron had settled into the transparent teal color that signified the end of the brewing. Another vial dipped and filled, soon emptied down his gullet and an energy not of his own body ran through every fiber of his being, making him alert as if he had not just spent the previous hour or so comforting, and worrying about, Luna.

He brought the wooden chair close to the bed, transfiguring it into an imitation of the armchair that he favored back in the Slytherin common room, resplendent as it was with its serpent motifs, subtle wooden, polished, curvature and plush covering. This particular feat had taken its fair bit out of him, having poured more than enough of his magic into it to last him through the night and the next day, should he require it. He could not find it within himself to rise up from the comfortable chair and instead summoned the Brown Book from its place within the trunk, its familiar blank hardcovers settling into his lap before he opened it and continued off from where he last left off.

_"The Blood Boiling curse is an effective curse, and extremely distressing, against your intended mark. Blood is after all, one of the most precious commodities that a witch or wizard might treasure, be it their own, of their enemies or perhaps of one of the many creatures that inhabit this world. However, take note when casting the spell that the required intent and visualization are perfectly clear and focused in your mind. Such a curse does not tolerate imperfections in its incantation and invocation, and be mindful of against whom you cast it, some can resist the sensory manipulations that the curse inflicts, while the chemical alterations continue unabated, thus giving the victim enough time to interrupt your concentration. To cast the curse, focus your intent, visualize the process of boiling blood as it courses through the veins (it is suggested that the practitioner test it out beforehand on a living subject; small animals are recommended, rabbits and rats usually serve the purpose), then move your wand in a curvative triangle-shape, counter clockwise, before you swish the tip of your wand up, while it is still pointed against your intended target. The incantation is..."_

* * *

He was still awake when next day at noon a voice from below reached him, so he temporarily desisted from his reading, going downstairs to fire off yet another _Stupefy_ at the wretched form of Xenophilius Lovegood, while his core, his magic wanted to do so much more than just that. He barely left Luna's unconscious side, only willing himself for a few quick trips to the bathroom and to the kitchen to fetch some basic food to sustain him when the potion's effects evaporated and started eating into his stomach's contents. Truth be told, he was uncertain how long she would be out, he had never truly tested one of the Dreamless Draughts that he brewed, he had only made them and given them to Snape for evaluation who always said they were adequate, with room for improvement. Which was high praise from the sallow-skinned man, and he couldn't help but grin at the thought of new books he would buy for Potions this year, when they would finally venture into even more volatile, harder to brew mixtures. Longbottom would provide adequate amusement, if nothing else.

It had worried him though. The usual mark when his school supply list would arrive had come and passed, the end of July quickly approaching, while Luna had already received hers. Maybe it was because of the change in locations? Had an owl bearing the list of the new schoolbooks and other items he would need for his third year arrived at the Dursley household? He could only hope it did, arriving mayhaps even in the midst of one of the Vernon's business deals going on, just about when they were going to shake their hands an owl would swoop inside and perch on the table with the letter obviously clutched in her talons. Ah, to dream.

If the worst came to pass, he was sure he could easily ask around for the basic items he would need in _"Flourish and Blotts"_, though the issue of his two electives might cause a problem. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, both were two highly valued subjects at Hogwarts, and sounded far better than Divination or Muggle Studies. The latter utterly repulsed him to even ponder about while the former just seemed ludicrous. Snape had informed him in a private audience, one which he had with every second year Slytherin when they were to be consulted on what electives would serve them best, that the Divination's Professor was an utter waste on Hogwarts' budget and the subject itself a waste of time for those who did not already possess the Seer trait in their bloodline. More likely than not, he would not dissuade those who were after an easy Outstanding grade, and the same ones would also enroll into Muggle Studies or Care of Magical Creatures.

Granted, Care of Magical Creatures did seem enticing, and he had even said as much to their Head of House at the time, entertaining thoughts of taking up perhaps three electives. It would have taxed his free time, but the subject seemed promising enough. Until he was told who would be teaching it upon next year. Up until now it was taught by an elderly wizard, Silvanus Kettleburn, who would be retiring when Hadrian's 3rd year came around, due to many injuries sustained during his handling of certain creatures. His replacement was to be the half-breed gameskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. Once he learned that, he was deserted by all desire to include the subject in his list of chosen electives for next year. So Ancient Runes and Arithmancy it was. The former would help him with the unfinished map when it finally reached its completion and the latter would help him understand how spell invention worked, both of which highly intrigued him.

In his pondering of the classes he would attend to next year, he had failed to notice that Luna had been stirring. It took a groan, one signifying awakening, to bring his attention back to the world around him and he rose up from his chair, placing the Brown Book back in the trunk and then laid one hand on Luna's head, fingers threatening to tangle up in that straggly hair without even a conscious effort, while she slowly roused from the potion-induced dreamless slumber.

"I would say _'good morning'_ but it would seem pointless as it is time for lunch now. Someone slept well, I hope?" he asked with a smile on his face, glad when he received a sleepy smile in return from her and the barest of nods, "Good, now you slowly stretch yourself, change your clothes if you wish, and I'll go downstairs to see about preparing us something to eat, alright?"

With another nod as a reply, he set off downstairs. Upon arriving in the living room, he finally removed the conjured ropes from Xenophilius' body and awakened the man with a spell. He didn't allow the man to speak, to try and excuse what he had done yesterday, to dare and try to feel regret.

"In a few minutes, Luna will come downstairs. You will apologize for what you did yesterday and then you will go out, I don't care where, just as long as you are out for the rest of the day. Go spend it in the village's pub, if they have one, or a tavern, it doesn't matter to me. Should you wish to stay here instead, rest assured that I will once more knock you out, transfigure you into a match and then place you into a drawer which I will bespell to be unbreakable, while assuring Luna that you have left for a month-long trip to wherever you go to roam when you abandon your only child."

Part of what he spoke was truth, part of it was a lie. For one, he could not transfigure Xenophilius Lovegood into a matchstick, he had not reached that level of understanding and expertise to perform it. Intent was fine and dandy, but there were limits to it. He might accidentally kill the man in his botched attempt, and that would not do well at all for Luna. Or him. But he would knock out the man without a second thought, and put him in one of the many abandoned rooms in the upper floors of the house. Perhaps he would keep him knocked out, until he could temporarily leave for Knockturn, to get some ingredients he would require for the Draught of Living Death, and then force-feed it to the man, only giving him the antidote before he left the house with Luna, before he took her to the _"Night Bird"_.

"Don't speak to me," he cut the man off before he could say something, "Don't even try. Do as I say with Luna, and you will be free for the rest of the summer. Can I trust you to do that much? Nod or shake your head, a verbal reply is not necessary nor expected."

A nod was given and Hadrian set off to the kitchen now, the wand back in the holster, unaware when it had initially even slipped into his hand, his magic still uncoiled, just in case. As he set about to preparing a light lunch for the two of them, he kept one ear focused on the stairs, intent on hearing when Luna made her way down.

By the time she made her way down, the soft _thump_ of each barefoot foot against the stairs, against the floor, he had finished up most of the lunch meal. A potato salad, some fried chips, along with a solitary, though a bit larger than the norm, fried sausage, and finally one delectable surprise for Luna.

There were words exchanged in the greeting room, though he had an inkling on what was being said. The main reason he did not wish for the man to be in the house today was for the purpose of making Luna feel comfortable, before this place, her home, became something she couldn't bear to live in. Before memories of all the good times with her mother became memories of all the bad times when her father's dementia took control of him and led him to hurt his daughter in its quest for proof of that which does not exist.

The thoughts shunted aside, he heard the tell-tale sound of a door closing and approaching footsteps. Sparing only a single glance at the new presence in the kitchen, and summoning a pair of slippers from the upper rooms for her, he turned his attention back to the meal he was preparing. Few minutes later, it was done and ready to be scooped up by the two rather famished children in the house.

They ate in a comfortable silence, Luna more enjoying the potato salad and fried chips than her half of the sausage. Still, she ate her way steadily through everything offered and once it was gone, he delivered his surprise to her. When her eyes widened with joy at the sight, he knew his daring to use magic to speed up the process of making one had paid off. Plum pudding, so delicious and black looking, the treacle, the sweet spices, the citrus fruits moistness. With a small stasis charm he had kept it warm for her, and now with another flick of his wand he summoned up a spoon for her to dig into the sweet treat.

He enjoyed the magic of such a simple thing, of how delicacies could take one mind's away from things which sought to burden it. Not for the first time since he arrived in the Lovegood home, he was actually grateful for having the skills in the kitchen that he did, though the resentment, contempt and hate for those who 'taught' him remained. Hadrian watched her in silence and the joy, the happiness that seemed to emanate from those big eyes of hers, so blue, even after a good night's sleep. Now, for the first time, he wondered about the small dark circles beneath her eyes, and whether they had been placed there solely by the actions of her Housemates against her.

It was later in the day, when they had both been unwinding, the remnants of the day before still lingering in both of their minds, when he decided upon something. The occasional thought was thrown its way, but not much. Now... now was a different mindset he found himself in. Hadrian bid Luna follow him up to his room and sat her in the still-transfigured armchair, while he scoured his trunk for what he needed.

He sat down on the floor, cushion against his bottom, and without further preamble spoke.

"I want to show you a book."

* * *

Who could have guessed the Brown Book would so easily distract the younger witch from her problems? Well, that was a blatant lie, since Hadrian well knew how enticing the book was, how distracting in its knowledge, its secrets, its spells that it bestowed upon those who sought them out. He needed to distract her, so he left Luna to her own pace of reading for the rest of the day while he contented himself reading from another book. This one was also without a title.

It brought those thoughts he had no wish to entertain to the forefront of his mind. Fanciful speech was how one might have described the book, having been written in a rather different time. Flowery speech, yes. That was most definitely the apt word for how it talked about its subject matter. Later on, it would disgust him that he laid into it so quickly, so voraciously into yet another unnamed book sent his way via Daphne Greengrass. It was a flaw of his, even back before Hogwarts had happened. How often he would sneak off to the libraries that laid around and outside of Little Whinging, seeking shelter, seeking something different to read upon, something new to absorb and keep hidden within himself, it was a flaw he enjoyed indulging.

Had the girl figured him out that fast? Was his overindulgence in the books that obvious for all to see? It was that flaw which led him down his path, and for all the berating and reprimanding he gave himself in the privacy of his mind, he regretted not one step taken. His thoughts shifted from that place and his attention focused back on the book that she gifted to him on that train ride, just little over a month ago.

Despite its over-descriptive nature and the author's rather obvious proneness to exaggerated meanings behind certain gestures, the book was an easy read, a quick one, if you will. It needed several readings before understanding would dawn upon him, before the meaning of the kiss he so carelessly traded away lit up his mind and set cogs in motion. He would have groaned had Luna not been in the room, a quick glance told him she had already read through a third of the Brown Book, such was his unease with the _trade_. Still, it was worth it. It was only this one time, right? She had nothing of worth to offer in the future for him. Right?

Infuriating. Intriguing. He detested admitting that the blonde intrigued him. Why him? Why this bloody book? Why did she chose him for the kiss? So many why's. And he wanted answers for each and every one of them. September couldn't come fast enough for him and they'd not even stepped into August. That, combined with Luna's home situation, made him feel at unease, distressed and anxious. He thought of one thing that might allay the disquiet in his mind.

He voiced this suggestion deep into the evening and after careful consideration Luna accepted.

* * *

She would not admit this out loud, but she had been anxious. Barely a month had passed since last she saw him, left him with the book he would need to understand some of her reasons for wanting a favor returned. She could almost imagine the confusion on his face as he read through the book. It was a bit of a drab read, but it was either giving him the book or arranging a correspondence with him during the summer and that would not do. Not simply because she didn't wish to give him a venue of approach into her privacy, but more so for the presence of her family, who would most definitely notice the coming and going of an owl from their house, wondering to whom she was writing when she had done nothing of the sort for years now.

Her hand was laid upon a brush and she took to carefully straightening out her rather long hair, making sure that not even a single strand strayed from the predetermined shape. Brush followed by another brush followed by another brush. Thought turned stray and whirled about, the thought of her cage, gilded as it was, fleeting, the thought of her family nearly causing a scowl or a sneer to appear on her otherwise impassive face. It was so easy, in comparison, to keep up the masks while in Hogwarts. There, her only temptation, her only flaw in them was Hadrian Potter. And it was not as if she was uncareful about the slips that happened, which when they did she tended to minimize as much as possible. Here, however, it was a different matter.

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Guests. The talk. So many times, too many times, she had to suffer their presence, their arrogance in the belief that she was still theirs, under their control, not knowing she was already slipping past the leash they sought to place around her neck and cart her off to her bleak future. Only one good thing came from being around them so much, the way her magic would swirl, a familiar whirlpool of emotions, seeking to break the limits that had been placed upon her, seeking to break those who limited her, bound her to... to _this._

To an outside presence, someone not familiar with the Greengrass family and its secrets, this room showed nothing but the most lavish of furniture, the most descriptive in their intricacies mosaics and paintings of landscapes that hung on the walls, a room worthy of a pureblood heiress. That was what the world saw whenever it came to visit or whenever she came out to visit it. Some had been aware of her predicament, taunting her in the most subtle ways, a girl or a boy in the common room who would throw her a meaningful look and a smile which was anything but kind. They would be repaid their dues when the time came, she would only need to wait, to be patient. The one thing which she excelled in. It was her most fervent desire that she had no need of others, no need for support from another who would have to know her weakness, her flaw.

No matter how much Hadrian Potter enticed her, intrigued her even, he was a weakness. One that she would have to learn to embrace and use to its fullest extent.

A voice from beyond her room called to her, and she hated the very sound of it. Called out, like a pet. With time, with patience, she would make the little witch, _the little bitch_, pay for every mockery, every insult given. With time, with patience, she would call out to her, and her voice would not be the same as it was now. This she swore.

* * *

He had initially hesitated going there, at this hour. Especially with her, unsure of how the place might be when the sun had fully set and only the moon provided illumination. True, he felt more comfort, more safety here than on the cobblestones of Diagon, but that was in the daylight, when the shadows were merely shadows, and not filled with things that lurked in them.

Glances were thrown their way, from many a witch, wizard and creature. It was the last which gave him unease. Creatures which would not be seen in the day, not in the openness of Diagon or any other, well known and populated, part of magical Britain. Creatures which stalked the night.

Their movement across Knockturn was at a much slower pace than he would have liked, the crowds, the shop stands, the open night market impeding their progress, allowing them to be seen by others. And what a curious sight they made.

A boy and a girl, surely no older than twelve or thirteen, one with pitch-black hair, while the other was graced by silver in hers, which gleamed when moonlight fell upon it. One seemed almost at home in this place, though tension and alertness radiated for all to see. The other seemed out of place, that innocence, that naivety and yes, even a sense of wonder as she beheld all that happened around them, as she was dragged by the boy in his wake.

It was during one of the forced, abrupt, halts in their way that brought out the element of Knockturn that liked to play with outsiders. Despite the boy giving an air of belonging, it was simply not possible for children to belong in a place as shady, as dark, as this.

A hand was laid across the girl's shoulder. Words were exchanged. And then not a minute or two after, screaming. But not from where they expected, for the girl was silent, her mouth shut, her very appearance carrying serenity and calm... so unlike the boy who had hate clearly displayed on his face. Disgust intermingled with the intense feeling of loathing, plain for all to see, as his wand remained pointed in the rather grubby looking man's direction, who writhed on the cold and hard stones of Knockturn, in pain, in agony. Whether it was out of sheer surprise, bewilderment, or enjoyment of another's pain, none dared to break the spectacle ongoing, though it was but one of many loud noises, swallowed up by the nearby crowd, going unheard by those too distant, though not unaware of what was happening.

A minute and the deed was done, the writhing form left behind as the boy took the girl with him, took her away and their presences were swallowed up by the dim lighting, the great noise, of Knockturn Alley.

* * *

When the wards set up on the door announced yet another new arrival, she huffed. Business had been booming tonight. Had been booming for the past week or so, as more and more people arrived in preparation for the celebration. But when her eyes landed upon the new arrivals, the previous mood dissipated, replaced by a smile at the sight she had not expected for some time now. After all, her little one only said they would come here for a few days, had he not? That immediately set her senses ablaze, her mind with worry over what might have happened.

"Hello, Yvanna," he greeted her with a smile that eased some of her worries, though not all.

There was restraint in her, as she wanted to openly display her affection for the boy, to embrace him like so many times before. It would have to wait, however, at least until he introduced his friend to her, the silver beauty she only saw a brief glimpse of back at King's Cross in June. With a pointed glance towards the girl, her little one smiled yet again and spoke the proper words.

"Yvanna, this my friend," the word was spoken with such affection, such care, it was positively a thrill of pleasure for Yvanna to hear it, to hear it from his mouth, "Luna Lovegood," he dipped his head towards Luna as he gently urged her to come forward and present herself to Yvanna, a pull with his hand in hers.

She couldn't resist giving the petite girl a kind smile, especially when she courtsied so lovely to her, to whom it was not needed.

"My, my, what a beauty you are," she complimented the child and then added a teasing, "My little one has such exquisite taste," provoking a slight flushing of the cheeks from Hadrian and an enigmatic smile from the girl herself, "Well now, I suppose I can't call you both little ones, now can I? It would get awfully confusing. Ah," she playfully slapped herself on the forehead, "But where are my manners? Yvanna's the name, little... moonlight," she tested out the word, seeing how the girl reacted to it and well enough, the girl's enigmatic smile turned into an approving grin, "Well now that introductions have been done, let's find you some rooms, shall we? And then, little one," a pointed, mock-scolding look sent his way, "You will tell me what you are doing here, so late in the night."

* * *

He did not outright tell Yvanna the specific reason for why he had chosen to spend the last month of the summer here, with Luna, but the older witch no doubt could easily guess at what the cause was. He did tell her about the man in the market, about what filth he spoke to Luna, and how he cursed the man without the slightest hesitation. He did leave out the feeling it invoked once _Sanguiferveo _left his lips, when it struck against the mark, when it hit the man square in the chest. When he writhed in pain, the anguish, the distress, it nearly evoked a trill of pleasure, an audible admission that the curse impacted _his_ senses as well, although in a different, and far more pleasant, manner. He didn't even dare imagine before that he would practice the curse so quickly, just a day after he became acquainted with all of its depth in writing, all of its quirks. The Brown Book mentioned nothing of this, of _this sensation_ that caused his magic to coo to him, to purr seductively and croon.

He had left the scene in haste because he did not wish for the crowd's attention to be upon him any more. He did not wish to have the temptation of lashing out again at the man's broken form. It was a temporary thing, a fleeting sensation, that feeling of serenity, and something else hidden beneath the surface, when he elicited the screams with that one simple spell. Still, it was not like he would have the chance to cast it again any time soon, so he would merely shunt the temptation, the stray thoughts, aside and ponder on what he was going to do when the 1st of September came, and that anticipated visit on the Hogwarts Express loomed in the near future.

* * *

It was distressing, to say the least. Never once did she consider he would know of such things. Yes, he had quite the sharp tongue, but if all who had sharp tongues waded their way into this particular branch of magic, well... the world would be a far different place. Of all the things, of all the spells... and that emotion hidden, not as much as he'd liked to think, within his dark, green eyes. She knew very well what it meant when he told her of how the man nearly groped about Luna and implied some less than savory acts. If that alone could set the boy off, and especially with such a curse... if he was telling the truth, and she had no reason to doubt him, it was the first time he had cast such a curse upon anyone. He knew only the theory, and she wondered about that, where he could find such knowledge. Perhaps the Restricted Section in Hogwarts? Assuming the castle, its staff and its rules haven't changed much, she doubted that second year students were given unlimited access to the Restricted Section.

It was a worry for her, worry that her little one would... no, it did not bear thinking. He would not get lost in the Arts, he would not succumb, as most do, and lose himself to the delirium, to the addiction of the thrills that the magic brought with its invocation. The child had will, he had intent and he had an astoundedly large thirst for knowledge, one which would not be quenched by merely what was allowed to be learned in the regular Hogwarts curriculum. To try and impede him would only perhaps set him further away from her, push him away. Truth be told, she had no wish to impede him. Her concern was that this was a choice that would need to be consciously made, and he was making it without knowing much about it. Once more, she cursed the muggles that had held him prisoner for eleven years, depriving him of the knowledge, of the world, that should have been his from the day he was born. She cursed the man who had placed him there, feeling more anger than ever before.

Sometimes, not all monsters were aware that they were as such. Sometimes, not all monsters were to be found in the dark.

She would guide him, as much as it was allowed. She would show him the choices offered, the paths yet untaken, and she would let him choose. It would be a waste of time to deny that she would be joyous if he made the same choice as she did, all those years ago, and it would be a waste of words to deny that she would still be there for him, no matter what the outcome. The only regret was his youth, his innocence, what little of it remained, what little he chose to keep safe within the friendship he built with the silver-haired girl, and how it might end far too soon, how it might vanish, should he not be careful in each of the steps that were to be taken. In a way, it had been most fortuitous he had arrived when he did, just a day before Lughnasadh. She could arrange a surprise or two for him.

* * *

When the light of day broke across Knockturn, none of the chaos that occupied its streets the night before could be found, not a trace of it. Not of the crowds, of the stands, of junk, of filth. Only its standard form of grime, soot and dirt, its dark and unwelcoming appearance pushing away the occasional tourist or passerby, perhaps intrigued by some morbid tale they had heard, from Diagon.

When the light of day broke through the charmed window in Hadrian's room, he found himself awake rather quickly, the events of the previous two days still fresh in his mind. As he was heading downstairs towards the main room of the hostel, he only took one glance into Luna's room, making sure that the younger witch was still asleep. Satisfied that there had been no tossing or turning evident in her sleep, he went down the stairs and set himself up on one of the stools at the bar.

Instead of being greeted by Yvanna, one of the kitchen girls was there to offer him some breakfast, which Hadrian accepted, while filing the oddity of Yvanna's absence into the crevices of his mind, noting that she was absent like this only once, when she brought him the first book, the one that was still with him, despite him absorbing all of its knowledge, on that first of summers spent here. He also took note of the strange few glances that the kitchen girl was giving him, smiling a bit too often, trying to strike up small, irrelevant chatter while he was still in the middle of his Yorkshire pudding. Seeing no reason to be hostile towards the girl, he indulged her in her desire for conversation once he was finished with the meal.

"Hogwarts student, eh?" the girl asked of him.

"Yes," he sparsely answered.

"You've been coming here for some time now, haven't you?"

"Quite," unwilling to commit himself to more than one-worded replies when their conversation took this strange route.

"You don't talk much, do you? Slytherin, I bet?" she teased at him, flashing a grin aimed his way when he nodded, "That's all right, I can talk enough for both of us. I was a Hufflepuff myself, one of the Hat's rather misplaced sortings," she snorted, "But you work with what you have. It wasn't entirely unpleasant in it, even though the rest of the Houses tend to look down upon us, like they do on Slytherins."

Hadrian wanted to protest, just for the slightest moment, to tell her that the way Slytherin was looked down upon, Hufflepuff never had to experience. They never had to guard themselves from being jinxed of hexed for the accident of Sorting, in their very first year at that. The worst they got was disparaging words from people who weren't even in their House, which shouldn't have mattered at all. He didn't, keeping his silence and keeping his face unmoved by the brief turmoil on the inside, and instead merely replied, "I can only imagine," the lie smoothly flowing from his tongue.

Whatever next she wanted to talk about was fortunately interrupted by the arrival of Luna, and Hadrian grabbed onto it as a lifeline, seeking a refuge from the incessant chatter that would, undoubtedly, get only worse the further it went. With her, small talk was no exertion, and eventually turned into other kind of talk, one not entirely fit for an audience, since the kitchen girl was still hovering around them. Their discussion became an earnest one when they stepped into Hadrian's room and he spelled it, just in case, with a few privacy charms.

As it was when he learned of her ability to see and sense magic, so it was with him now when she learned of the Brown Book. The interrogation that followed was quite thorough and he enjoyed it. Her inquisitive, knowledge-seeking side reared its head, making it quite a sight to behold, drilling him for all pieces of information, his experiences with the spells he had practiced. She found the source for the _Morsus_ he so liberally applied to those that earned his ire, found where he had discovered a more intimate knowledge of casting, far deeper than the one they provided at Hogwarts in their classes. By the time they had gone over most of the things he had learned from the Brown Book, including the curse he had performed for the first time last night, the day was well past lunch, a sense of time's passing oblivious to either as the words they exchanged held far more importance than anything else. Finally, one question was asked, one question he was unsure of whether to answer truthfully or not.

"Where did you get the book from, Hadrian? Knockturn?" she asked of him.

"No," he hesitantly replied and waited for a few minutes, his thoughts going this way and that, pondering how she might react once he told her, because once it was out in the open, he would have to tell her about the impending trade on the September train ride.

"Then where?" she tilted her head to the side, puzzlement etched on her face.

"Greengrass," he admitted, a bit breathless from the truth being out in the open now. It was like a weakness was exposed, like he was admitting that a part of his knowledge was not his at all.

Instead of the expected continued confusion, she looked at him so oddly, putting her head back on straight and looking at him, before asking, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did she give you the book? And when was this?"

So he told her. How it all began, back in his first year, which seemed ages ago, how it evolved over the past time period, how it held more knowledge to be unlocked. He told her of the sacrifices. When the first one was mentioned, she didn't frown or anything like that, which truth be told he had been expecting, what with it being a minor act of blood magic, a thing not looked upon with favor in Britain and other places. There was no reaction, other than the subtle nods, indicating he should continue his story, when he told her about the second sacrifice. The third one, however, elicited a reaction. For the first time since they had met, she was truly angry.

"You idiot," words previously unheard from her, so blunt and directed his way, left him stunned into silence. What happened next only furthered his bewilderment, as she threw away the book, hitting the wall and falling to the floor, before she pounced on him. Whatever he expected, this was most surely not among the possibilities he had entertained in the privacy of his mind. Luna hugged him. No, not the right word. Hug. It was too weak. She embraced him in such a tight hold it made his bones ache and he was glad that Eagala was resting on the heated rock in the corner of the room, rather than spending her time around his chest. The serpent had quite a lot of freedom while they were at the Lovegood home, always traversing the small wilderness, enjoying the hunt, returning with a obvious bulge in her belly, indicating something had fallen prey to her rather recently. There was no reason for her to spend so much time nestled against his flesh, and he wanted the reptile to enjoy some freedom of her own, she was no slave that had to be kept all the time at attention. His thoughts shook away from these things and focused on the _now_.

"You idiot," she repeated, a gentler tone now, devoid of the anger she expressed mere minutes ago, "What did you tell me that day in the hospital? When you woke me up from that petrified state?"

A moment more his confusion lasted before he answered, "That you're my friend. That," he gulped slightly, unsure of repeating the words for a second time, but pressed on anyway, "That you're not allowed to leave me like that, ever again."

Her hold on him lessened and she pulled away, her face looking slightly puffed up, tears flowing freely, and her eyes such a vibrant blue it enthralled him, "Then you're not allowed to leave me either. You promised. Always, you said," Luna said, sniffing a bit at the _'always' _part.

"Oh Luna," he got out before engulfing the younger witch in an embrace of his own for a bit before pulling back and wiping the tears away with his sleeves, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggling with the sensation of his shirt's sleeve rubbing across her cheeks, "I'm sorry for being so selfish. Can you forgive me?" he asked, honesty and the need to sooth Luna lacing his words.

In return, she gave him a small smile before nodding. So they sat, so close to one another on his bed, yet the closeness didn't bother him as much as it used to. It was a new thing to him, an oddity, but not an unwelcome one. He doubted that without Yvanna's tender touches he would have allowed this much to happen on its own. In a way, Luna reminded him of the older witch, and for a second, he couldn't help but compare their eyes, how alike the two seemed, yet completely different. Luna's eyes, in their faint hue of blue, when no tears flowed or hid in the corners, were intermingled with that familiar grey. Yvanna's on the other hand were a rather darker shade of blue, a more intense, more focused, ocean blue on a dark day. _'Pools of blue.'_

Luna sniffed once more and then retreated a small distance away from him, but closer than she was before, ready to lunge at him again if needed, as if to beat some sense into him. An involuntary grin appeared on his face at the thought, while a similar one appeared on the witch that sat across him, though for different reasons. Now, he didn't know what kind of reaction to expect once he told her Greengrass' reasons for giving him the book, what with just happened. Every part of the conversation was retold, while she slept in the train compartment by his side, even the fact that Greengrass could apparently sense his magic when it unwrapped itself.

* * *

Luna was inwardly very pleased at how protective he was of her, even when faced with such an unknown quantity in that small space on the train. She knew how he acted when she was petrified, some of it he had told her, some of it she had overheard from others when they didn't notice her presence. It was a guilty pleasure, of a sort, when the Edgecombe girl huddled closer to the pretty Asian upper-year in her House whenever Luna passed by with Hadrian or even if it was just Luna herself, the girl would suddenly tense up. This kind of behavior only lasted a short while, as soon enough the school term was over and they were heading off to their homes.

It was pleasant, not having to worry about what her Housemates might or might not do to her, not having to worry that she would need to scour the castle for her belongings. It would be a blatant lie if she said that the new-found safety he provided wasn't something she found great comfort in. And it would be even a more obvious lie, more than the last, if she tried telling that him sharing all of this didn't tug certain strings in her heart.

The tale of his encounter with Daphne Greengrass on the train was a mystery to her. Until he told her of what she asked in return for the book, the Brown Book he called it, and she reacted the only way she could.

* * *

Well, that was certainly something. Of all the things he expected, this was not among them. Again, Luna surprised him, this fit of giggling suddenly assailing her, while he stared at her, once more, in confusion. He waited for an explanation to present itself, but she shook her heard when he asked her about it, refusing to elaborate. All thoughts of trying to pry into the reason behind the act went away when a knock was heard on the door.

It turned out to be Yvanna, calling them downstairs for lunch, flashing one enigmatic smile at the sight of the two sitting so comfortably on the bed, rather close to one another, before she closed the doors. The interruption came at a good timing, as both their stomachs rumbled with hunger pangs, reminding them they had spent quite a lot of the day in here without some decent food in them. With one promise to Eagala, to bring her some food, Luna and Hadrian departed from the room and went downstairs.

When they did reach the main room of the hostel, only then did they realize how much time had passed, the outside not showing a spot of sunlight, the veil of night well on its way to covering up everything. It was more of a early dinner that they had now, a bit more heavier than the usual, as they compensated for the lack of sustenance, Luna more than Hadrian. He forced her to eat some of the stew, a bit of the meat, before allowing her to descend down upon one of the many, many flavors of puddings that the kitchen girls and boys could whip up in a quick manner. Hadrian joined in the devouring of puddings, though his were of a less sweet treat than hers were, though no less delectable to his taste buds. It took three servings of rag pudding before he finally had enough, feeling his stomach was fit to explode on the slightest touch. Yvanna used the opportunity to tease the two, inquiring as to what they have been doing earlier today that they had to eat up so much to make up for it. Luna repeated the giggling act, while Hadrian was far too full to even properly flush, merely looking annoyed, but indulgent towards the older witch.

Yvanna sat with them at one of the tables, ensuring that the bar was kept running, as more customers started coming in, and ensuring their privacy with a wordless flick of her wand. In the end, they did not talk about matters of great importance, so much as Yvanna was being acquainted, with more depth, into her little one's past year at Hogwarts. It was not that hard to conclude he had neglected to tell her of some things, perhaps intentionally, perhaps not. She held no grudge, felt no annoyance at that, he was a Slytherin after all, for a very good reason, and keeping secrets was something that seemed to be bred into their bones. Hers included.

It was a slight disappointment to discover that the fragile looking silver beauty was a Ravenclaw, rather than a Slytherin. Familiar, melodic laughter escaped her full lips once Luna recounted how she met Hadrian, and how they became friends. The girl was more open than her little one, not shying away from the details of her Housemates and their behavior towards them. When Yvanna commented about how low the House of Rowena had fallen, Hadrian added his thoughts on the matter, saying that not all were that bad. After all, Luna was there and the other girl, MacDougal, with whom he had conversed briefly in the negotiation for class notes, copies of essays and such for Luna. It was good to learn that the MacDougal girl had done no harm, verbal, physical or otherwise to Luna, Hadrian's magic spiked up at the thought of her inaction however, but understood that in the end it was not the girl's fault. She could have joined in with the others, with those in Luna's year and the upper-year students, taunting, mocking, insulting, berating and doing Merlin knows what else for their own spot of fun.

The two witches fell into their own kind of conversation, one seemingly denied for everyone not of their gender, leaving Hadrian tuned out and to his own thoughts as he sipped his tea, enjoying the warmth that spread through his body with the imbibing of the liquid. For a few minutes, he pondered what he was about do and whether it was wise to do so, even in such a place, where he felt safe, in such a place that he nearly called _home_. The more he hesitated and twisted his thoughts through every possible quandary, the more people came into _"Night Bird",_ disrupting the hostel's ambient blanketing of magic that he felt on the edge of his senses. Letting out one prolonged exhale, he relinquished the hold on his basic senses and the tendrils unwrapped.

It had taken him continuous daily practice to try and uncoil more than just one tendril when it came to tasting the magic in the air. With Luna, it was easy, a reflex or an instinct. With everything else, with the unknown, it was much harder. Day after day of mental exhaustion, the toll on his physical body decreasing with each probing, the requirement he forgo breathing nearly gone. He would wander into the sleepy village of Ottery St. Catchpole late in the night, when the Lovegood home, and many others, were well asleep, and search for a secluded spot, one where he could not be spotted or found easily, not wanting to be disrupted in such a state of awareness and weakness. Day after day, or rather, night after night, he probed deeper into the magic that hung in the air, a low, illusory, vibration and hum, much weaker than what he felt at Hogwarts, tendril after tendril expanding away from him, touching upon the buildings. _There_, a sharp and acrid taste on the door, no doubt some kind of forced-entry prevention spell or ward. _There,_ a silencing charm covering the upper floor of a family home, so recognizable and distinctive, so familiar to his senses, differing only in the depth, strength and flavor, telling him it was not of his, or anyone he knew, making. _There, there, there, there _and finally _there_.

Now he was _here_. It was unlike the sleepy village where Luna was raised, it was so unlike Hogwarts. Hogwarts had an encompassing feeling to it, as if it was trying to contain too much magic, too much of it mingled, breeding a rather unique mixture, a sensory delight that enticed, intrigued and led you down pathways for the sheer joy of it. This, the hostel, was far, far different. It didn't match Hogwarts' intensity, he doubted any place could, since the building had a millennium, at least, of existence as its advantage. That, however, did not dull the sharp, the spiked up pressure that buzzed in the air around. Tendrils sought it out, all of it, the deadly spicy aroma, the illusory smell tingling his nostrils, wanting to bait him into breathing it in, when it would break him away from the senses he extended everywhere around him. It was both new and familiar to him. Deciding to be bold, unconsciously licking his lips while his breathing was bordering on erratic and shallow, a single tendril circled around the older witch that sat with him and Luna at the table.

It was only the tiniest of intrusions, nothing like when the tendrils, when the coils, wrapped around Luna, soothing, comforting, reassuring. It was more painful than anything he had experienced before, being brought back to the reality with a sting that had left its mark on him, the tendril flailing wildly before recomposing itself into the coils. An audible admission of the pain must have escaped his lips because when he opened his eyes, the two witches both looked at him, one's face laced with confusion and worry, while the other's expressing something akin to understand at what had just transpired, a soft smile on her lips, and just a touch of worry tainting her facial gesture.

"He's fine," Luna voiced what he could not, "He just simply overextended himself as usual. Could you help me get him up to his room?"

If Yvanna said anything to her, he was oblivious to it. Shapes intermingled, blurring into incoherent forms, sound was beginning to be distorted. His senses were in a state of rising chaos. Arms found themselves around his body, Luna on one side and Yvanna on the other. He felt like such a child, an infant really, to be held up by the two while he feebly trailed along the steps, unaware of when they even reached his room, aware only when they softly laid him down on the bed, and a warm liquid was soon poured down his mouth. Had it been someone else, somewhere else, he would have rebelled, spewing forth whatever concoction the cold vial held. Instead, he accepted and trusted in the witches that would keep him safe, before it all faded away, lulling him into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

"How often does this happen?" Yvanna asked the younger witch, her eyes refusing to leave the still and sleeping form of her little one, taking a shallow sip of the warm beverage in her glass, "And why?"

Luna for her part felt a bit uncomfortable, at first. Then she remembered the way Hadrian's face would warm up when he saw Yvanna, even when she teased the two for something that wasn't there, knowing that he would have told her this himself if he could have. For all his strength when it came to protecting her, he was more than a tad careless when it came to his own well-being. A hesitant wetting of the lips, a thirsty gulping of the water from her glass, before she answered.

"Not often at all," her eyes glued to the rising and falling chest of her friend, "He's gotten better at it, except..," she halted here, uncertain of what had happened downstairs, having _seen_ nothing at the time, "I don't know what exactly happened just now. He has this gift, I think you could say," a smile formed on her face, without her even noticing, "He can move his magic around, using basic shapes to form it into something. Usually, it's coils, wrapped tightly around him, or a tendril. Both are quite lovely to see. And feel," she added in a whisper that was easily heard by the other witch, "Hadrian uses it to feel magic around him, but at times, like today, he tends to probe too much, and the backlash is too harsh on him."

An uncertain amount of time had passed, not much, in silence as the two witches moved their eyes away from Hadrian's body, meeting each other's gaze, small, unexplained, smiles meeting. Yvanna used the comfortable silence, thinking about what had just been revealed to her. _'So young and already so able,'_ she thought, stirring the beverage in her glass absentmindedly, _'Both of them'_ she concluded. The girl said that Hadrian had a gift, so neglectful of her own gift of being able to _see_ magic. There was more left unsaid, and she would not try to pry into the girl's affairs without having a talk with Hadrian first. Inwardly, she smiled. Until Luna had told her of his gift, his ability, she was unsure what she had felt testing her borders, the unknown presence that sought to _know_ her. Her magic, subdued though it was, reacted the only way it could to the unknown, volatilely. Even then, she could not have guessed it came from him, only his soft moan of hurt alerted her that something had happened to him.

What a strange and rather unique talent he possessed. She would have to have a certain talk with him earlier than expected perhaps. This was not something that would surge up to the surface in children, it took time to mature, time to acclimatize itself to constant magical exposure, requiring of the person to either live in a magically saturated area or resort to some rituals. Given that he had spent the majority of his life in the muggle world, the latter was the only option. Even as such, with a few of the rituals she knew of, it was never before described as this, to manifest in such a manner, so intrusive, so inquisitive. After a while, everyone acquired basic magical perception. It was more than likely that he was not the only one with such an ability, it was more than likely that it was kept a secret, a private matter for whatever reason that may be. Perhaps it would be good to talk to a few old acquaintances that would be coming to visit soon.


	4. Chapter 4

_**31st of July, 1993**_

One thing he had expected upon his waking up was the sensation of exhaustion. There was none. His senses experienced none of the distortion that had plagued them for a short duration last night, before he had been fed the sleeping draught. Getting up however, righting himself up so suddenly, was a different matter. His vision, blurry as it was without the presence of his glasses that usually sat atop the bridge of his nose, swam for a moment, taking a few concentrated inhales and exhales to stabilize, a feeling of vertigo fleeing his mind. A familiar piece of wood slid into his hands from its place on his wrist and he summoned his glasses from wherever they were placed, carefully catching them in the air as they flew towards him. Once they had been put on, he noticed something different about him.

His clothes. His mind might have not been the best source for providing a memory of what exactly happened last night in all details, but he was pretty sure that he wore one of his spare shirts, the black one with the silver trimmings on the neck-line and sleeves, and not... this. This was most definitely not one of his bed-clothes, even though he did like the serpent engravings and its subdued forest-green coloring. The material was too soft, almost making it seem, to his sense of touch, that he wasn't wearing that much at all. His worry and confusion must have traveled along the connection he shared with Eagala as an influx of images started flooding his mind, telling him of how Yvanna had used magic on his clothes to transfigure them into this before she departed the room. That was a relief, because no matter how much he felt comfortable with the continued physical affection from the older witch, being undressed and then redressed by her was not one of the things he wanted to experience.

A single _Finite Incantatem_ later and his clothes returned to what he wore the night before, though he still changed out of it, feeling a shower was more than due. There was a bit of a startle in the shower when Eagala had slithered her way into the bathroom, intent on enjoying the steam that rose up from the scalding hot water, hitting upon the cold porcelain at his feet. For this purpose alone, he extended his stay under the water, as a way of an apology for not bringing her some food yesterday. Even amidst the sound of rushing water, he heard her hissing, imagining it sounding almost like _'I understand'_, though it was more of a feeling in his mind, rather than the sound he had heard.

Feeling adequately refreshed and not wishing to wrinkle his skin with continued exposure, Hadrian stepped out of the shower, the water ceasing its torrent, and rubbed himself dry with a towel. Then he spelled his hair instantly dry, pulling as much of it he could into a low knot and tying it up, while tucking the rest of the strands, still too short to reach the back area, behind his ears. His hair didn't like being so orderly and before even a minute was out, a strand had fallen out from behind the ear, touching upon his cheek. There was no point in trying to restrain it, sometimes it seemed like the blasted thing had a mind of its own. The clothes he had left on his bed before going in for the shower, he now moved to his trunk, while picking out fresh clothing for the day. When he was finally ready, he was wearing a simple white shirt with the rest of his regular attire for a casual day, though admittedly the shoes always felt so odd to him. One _Tempus_ cast, just to make sure he had not overslept, and Hadrian smiled when it turned out it was just striking six o' clock, his regular waking hours. One call to Eagala, inviting the serpent to join him for breakfast, and she slithered her way up his legs, settling around his neck and shoulders, her whole body exposed and serving as some kind of odd decoration to the clothes he wore. By reflex, he rubbed his right cheek against her scales, enjoying the subtle vibrations of her perpetual motion and the distinctive gentle hold she pressed around him with her coiling.

Upon arriving downstairs, he noticed once again that Yvanna was not present at the bar, and the rest of the main room was absent of anyone but him and the girl from yesterday. Instead of conversing with her, as she tried a few times to strike up a conversation, he only gave her a small smile and moved off to one of the tables set up in the corners, his food laid out before him. Sadly, while he very much enjoyed his variety of puddings, such sustenance was not all that favored by Eagala, as the smells emanating from the delicacies tended to tease her taste buds, but the taste itself, and the meal's composition, was something which disagreed with her physiology and needs. Whispering an apology to his beloved familiar, he rose up from the table, leaving Eagala behind, and asked the girl if they perhaps still kept the canaries in the kitchen. She looked at him so oddly, before confirming that they still had them in there, which led to Hadrian placing a single galleon on the bar counter, before moving into the kitchen by himself, not waiting for her. When he emerged from the kitchen, in one of his hands he held a single canary in an enclosed fist, the bird chirping in confusion and panic, before fear completely overwhelmed it when the small avian spotted the serpent laying on the desk. A quick _snap_ and the bird laid dead in his hand, her neck broken, an offering for the reptile who barely needed to distend her jaw to swallow the poor thing whole in one gulp. So they ate, the serpent and her bonded, enjoying each other's presence, while the girl at the counter only shivered with unease at such a sight, so casual in the way it happened, yet quite disturbing.

When Yvanna finally made an appearance, Hadrian was surprised, for she came not through the front door, but down the stairs where the guest rooms laid. Once he had been spotted, the older witch's lips curled into a smile, and he couldn't help but look a bit bashful, the event from last night sticking to the forefront of his mind. He had a thought of rising up from his table and going to her side, quashing it when she approached him instead and sat down, a small fork appearing in her hand all of a sudden before she took a small piece of his steak and kidney pie, eyes full of cheer and mischief, as if she just pulled one on him and he had not realized it. It was utterly perplexing how relaxed she made him feel, even with such an odd and unexpected gesture. Then shame flowed through him.

"Yvanna, I'd like to apologize for last night," he said, forcing his voice to remain unwavering.

This earned him a raised eyebrow from Yvanna, "For what?"

"I was too bold, too intrusive, I—" he would have started babbling, rambling really, had she not interrupted him.

"Shush, little one," her face recomposing itself into the very image of kindness, the mischief still not quite gone from her eyes "You were curious, I understand. You're supposed to be curious," then the mischief came back in full force, "Although, there is that saying with curiosity, cats, knives and the cockatrice."

"What saying?" he asked, having never heard of such a thing.

"The one you'll forever be curious about, but never know," she teased, one finger wagging at him, and then letting out some soft laughter to escape past her lips. It was infectious and he joined in it, before ending as quickly as it began. Yvanna let out a small breath of relief at how quickly Hadrian could ease up in her presence, hoping that this would continue to be so in the future, no matter what happened, "Do you wish to try again perhaps?"

For a second, he was confused, before realization dawned upon him, uncertainty shown on his face, "I'm not sure," he said and no more, not quite sure on how to phrase his fears and worries.

It seemed she understood what he feared, what his worry was about, soothing him with words, "There is no need to be afraid, Hadrian," she spoke his name, something she didn't do that often, and he could not deny how good it sounded the way she said it, inflections of her native accent mixing in the pronunciation, could not deny that he enjoyed hearing it said by her, "Last night happened because I was not aware that you had this gift, I didn't know it was you and my magic reacted as it would to any invasive presence. You can try again now, if you want, no such thing will happen again, and I'll keep you safe."

Not fully trusting his voice, worried that too much emotion might seep into his words, he nodded, placing his hands on the table and closing his eyes. Just before he left his basic senses behind, warm hands clasped over his, providing further comfort even while his body's reflex wanted to slip away from it, giving him the final nudge that he needed. It was with some trepidation that a single tendril, smaller than usual how he envisioned it, unwrapped itself from the familiar coils, traversing first the surroundings, traversing Eagala's tingling presence, the magic that coated the reptile affirming the bond once more, such an intimate thing, and whether by reflex or something else, he glided the tendril along the serpent's body, wrapping around in certain places, willingly letting some of his magic seep into the cold scales, an imaginary heat blossoming from the cold-blooded body on the table. Content flowed through the link, content and whatever Eagala had that was similar to happiness. He did not linger much on it, on this feeling, on the connection, this was not why he abandoned touch, sight and sound, although it was a pleasant experience.

No, he left these basic things behind so he could feel Yvanna. Her magic. Once the tendril departed from Eagala, the room around them supplied a buzzing in its stead, the illusory smell of spice fainter than it was on the night before, but the sharpness of it remained constant, hidden or dormant in its depths. Finally, daring to go where he only sought to lightly touch upon before, the tendril, hesitantly returned to its regular dimensions before forming concentric circles around the subdued presence that sat across him. Subdued she might have been, but when that first touch traveled along the tendril, back to him, it was anything but subdued. There was not a thing to compare it to. It was invigorating, it was intoxicating, the swirling, the seeming chaos, the constant motion, alertness it kept itself in. If the room they now sat in carried the smell of spice, it was a cheaper, more bland version of the true thing. Where the room was spice, something to add a bit of flavor, Yvanna's magic was _the_ flavor. It was searing, scalding like the shower he took this morning, yet it carried none of the harshness it should have inflicted upon him. All hesitation was gone, the tendril wrapping itself around the magic, before others let loose, of their own volition, a part of his mind seeking out to taste more, to _know_ more about this new and unexplored thing. He could not count how many tendrils now sought, fought each other for it, the warmth, the allure that Yvanna's magic simply radiated. It was all those embraces she had given him, magnified a thousandfold, if not even more, all those kind looks, all those flashes of anger that she sought to hide from him, anger directed towards those that had hurt him, never knowing that he saw them, as if she was not hiding them at all, never knowing that he was almost ready to crumble at the presence of such affection, to him who had never experienced any of it before meeting her.

In this moment of moments, in his heart of hearts, the tendrils wrapped themselves as gently as they could, trying to cover up every part of the chaos, trying to keep it his and _his_ alone, to keep her away from any other who would seek a place in her heart, which should only belong to him and him alone. Possessivness, unlike any he had felt before, engulfed every fiber of his existence. In that moment of moments, he let all the feelings he felt for the older witch to flow through the tendrils that enshrined her, all the things that he would not dare to voice aloud, trying to give her at least a single glimpse of how much the past summers, this included, meant to him.

* * *

The child started so slow, so patiently, so carefully. _'Afraid, no doubt.'_ She could almost taste his hesitation on her tongue, infringing on her taste buds. Then he took the first step, not towards her, but towards the serpent that Vladimir and she had found for him. It had been such a carefully picked out gift, of which she was unsure at first, but Vladimir quashed whatever objections she had, saying it would be right for the boy, a perfect fit, in a manner of speaking. And he was right, she had seen how Hadrian treated his familiar, his bonded, with great care and affection, his gaze revealing all the emotions he would have never shown, then, to another person, not even towards her. There was one particular memory which stood out amongst others with the serpent; it was upon his arrival in August, before his second year at Hogwarts started, the reptile draped around his shoulders, him looking so natural, so relaxed with such a creature clinging so closely to him, as if it wasn't an odd sight to behold, even in the world of magic.

That was not what stood out in the memory, not even the way his fingers would touch upon those dark scales of hers, while his face nuzzled the creature, expressing so much emotion that he never had a chance to express before. It happened when he had been seemingly deep in thought, but in truth he'd been conversing with the serpent via their link, describing the process as a series of images, flashing through with underlying meaning behind them, finding words and sentences where there were none. He raised his head and asked her if she knew of a shop in Knockturn where he might perhaps find some small birds or mammals for her, Eagala, to eat. It was late in the evening, and she did not wish him wandering around Knockturn by himself, not even with the precautionary measures she had done by introducing him to several of the more prominent denizens of this dark place. Instead, she told him of the birds they kept in the kitchens, to occasionally brighten up the atmosphere amidst the nightly heavy workloads. They were plain canaries, nothing special, easy to purchase from any pet store, magical or muggle. Without even being asked or expected to do so, he laid a single galleon on the counter in exchange for one of them, before he went into the kitchen by himself. Out he came, a canary in his enclosed hand, panicking, chirps turning to squeals until it squealed no more, its life gone with one swift and sharp turn of its neck by Hadrian's other hand. There he sat, his gaze unwavering in its affection, aimed towards his bonded, before he opened up his hand, the recently deceased bird on his hand, an offering to the reptile which almost seemed to hiss in the way a feline might purr.

She was brought out of this memory, this short recollection and reminder, by a small intrusion on her senses. It had not yet touched upon her, instead it circled around her, as a predator might stalk a prey, the thought amusing her and tugging her lips by the corners. The mild amusement vanished once she felt the first cautious touch, as a multitude of constricting circles started flaring up across her senses. They were gentle in nature, not invasive, intrusive or blundering, as she had worried they might feel at first. Without even a conscious input from her, the magic that she called her own started mingling, reaching out to the new presence, embracing it much like she did Hadrian in the rare and precious occasions, flaring up in response. Whatever hesitation there might have been in the exploratory presence, it vanished outright, the imaginary tendril, as Luna had called it, now wrapping itself more tightly around her, before others of its kind joined it.

What she received in return for her own magic reaching out to the other was anything beyond what she could have expected. The fact that she never once heard of such a thing aside, it was thrilling. What she gave was returned manyfold. A searing heat, a blistering star, throwing out pulses of _something _at her, before the pulses reached her own core, the many tendrils now completely encasing her, making her feel almost trapped, and she couldn't contain the tugs in her heart as they responded to the new sensations. All those things, all those words unsaid, all those gazes that he had chanced her way at times, everything contained within that tiny frame, that body of a child... one would not think twice of the strength that poured out to her, one would not say it was that of a child. It would have been suffocating had the presence not cared for her, instead it was a blanket of all the emotions that the child in front of her never dared show; a room, a house, a castle, a labyrinth that covered the world, filled with every secret and unspoken affection that he held for her. In that moment, she felt guilt flooding her. Guilt for taking the place that never should have been hers in the first place, a place in his heart, which was laid bare to her now, guilt which had been pushed away by a constant humming, soothing her worries, telling her, showing her what words would fail to describe.

Yvanna could not tell where her magic ended and his began. The chaos that she always kept under control was now free in a way she rarely allowed, and instead of venting its desires, it shifted to accommodate, to soothe and care in return for all the things that were unsaid, but still shown to her, gifted through the connection they now shared. And then, it was gone.

It would have been a lie to say that all of her, her core, her being, her very soul, did not feel hollow for its lack of presence. Unlike Hadrian she had no need to close her eyes, to abandon the background noise, to lose the sensation of touch as her hands still covered his. All the time while their magics mingled, existed in that affectionate, even possessive she would say, embrace, the world had gained in its intensity. The subdued earthly tones that were present throughout the room had intensified, giving off more color than they should have, and now that the presence left her, it was a bleak vision that her eyes saw, the colors fading away, replaced by such a mundane reality. However, not all of the world before her was left to such a weakened appearance.

When he opened his eyes, several minutes after they had disentangled from each other, they almost seemed to burn with a dark flame, so brightly, as she had never seen them do before. They complimented his pale complexion, only intensifying in their color once a strand of ebony fell across one of them, not quite covering all of it, a burning malachite peering through the blackness of his hair and the glasses that sought to hide its brilliance.

Many things could be said about Yvanna. Being overly affectionate was not among them. Not before she met Hadrian, him stumbling into her life just by that one slight coincidence of a Goblin's word. What had Vladimir asked, in his familiar exuberance, her on that day when she brought the boy to his shop in search of a wand?

_'... is this your little one?'_

No, on that day of days, when the wand was crafted for the boy, he was not her little one. Just _a_ little one, a boy, a child that had stumbled into this world. If the question were to be brought before her again, she would not deny that, yes indeed, he was _her_ little one. As she gained a place in his heart, so had he in hers.

* * *

Luna had found the two talking about when they would be taking a trip to Diagon for the school books they would need. It was going to be a bit of a problem for the DADA class, seeing as how they would be getting a new teacher this year, yet again, and he would most likely assign them some books that would differ from what they had last year. For that, both Luna and Hadrian were grateful, as Lockhart's books were only good for kindling and nothing more. On her list there was only one book that she needed for the class, titled _"A Comprehensive Guide to Protection from Harmful Intent" _with more than just one author attributed to it, indicating it was perhaps a collaborative work. Still, they would wait until they got their hands on the book and saw what laid within its pages before judging it.

There was a minor argument between Luna and Hadrian, while Yvanna observed from the sides, once the girl realized that in their haste to come here, and her eagerness to get away from home, she had neglected to take her vault key. The argument that started out from there was when Hadrian told her that she didn't need to worry about this for now, and that there was no reason to go back, since he would gladly help her with the purchase of her books. Luna shot more than just a few bashful looks at him, both pleased and displeased with how much he was doing for her. In the end, he was far too persistent and one gentle placing of her hand in his had resolved it then and there, with Luna acquiescing to him, but managing to convince him into paying him back when she had the chance, which he just waved off, saying it was unnecessary.

The day was still young when Yvanna had implied some kind of surprise for the two, teasing, taunting and eliciting many a mock-groan from both in her playfulness.

Despite Hadrian's usual attention to facial and body gestures, he had missed out seeing an exchanged glance between the two witches that had him sitting between them on the bench at the table. He was unaware of why Yvanna had come down from the direction of the guest rooms, his initial curiosity about it having been moved to the sides when she proposed to him to try what he failed to do last night. Unaware that Luna had very little sleep, her eyes' puffiness masked by the regular waking-up drowsiness, while Yvanna spent no time asleep at all, before she came downstairs and joined them at the corner-placed table. It had taken some prodding and gentle easing from Yvanna into making the younger witch feel comfortable and safe enough, to tell her of what Hadrian had truly done that year in Hogwarts, quite aware that more than just a few of the details were not shared with her. Such as why Gilderoy Lockhart had been placed in St. Mungo, and then an article in the _Daily Prophet_ when all of his claims had been revealed as shams, going on for several pages, illuminating the public of Britain as to what this wizard did to earn himself a five-year long sentence in Azkaban's medium security wing. Yvanna had initially laughed at how the peacock had been exposed, but once Luna had shared with her what had happened in that corridor, where she had been accosted by Lockhart, fleeing from the Ministry law enforcement officers, the memory of that particular laughter became bitter to her.

Had he not already been due for his arrival in Azkaban, she would have gone to St. Mungo herself, intent on leaving a few marks of her own on his body, despite what her little one's accidental magic had done to him. And to hear that, to hear how he sent such powerful curses, without a wand, without the words, with only pure intent, made the whole thing appear more like wandless magic, rather than accidental that it was. He had not thought of the words in his mind, not of the incantations, he had only thought about his friend, about her safety, about the man who sought to harm her, and his core responded to what all of his being wished for. Had he read of those curses afterward? Had he understood the power he fueled into the Cutting Curse, not a charm, not a jinx, not a hex, but a curse, before sending it on its way towards his chest? No restorative magic would ever remove that blemish from the man's skin, a visible reminder of his worst mistake to touch and try to harm something dear to Hadrian. Now this, this could have brought out a laugh from her, a cold and high laughter, the look on Lockhart's face once he realized it was a permanent mark to his foolishness. Did he scream when they regrew his bones from the ground up? Did he remember the sensation of them being ground into fine dust? Did he remember that it was a child of twelve who did this? She fervently wished that the jailers and tormentors of that isolated prison-fortress would pay special attention to the man, laying waste to his countenance, to his self-worth, before the five-year mark had reached its course. If they fulfilled even a fracture of her unspoken wish, the man's mind would be broken and he would become a permanent guest in the Mental Damages Ward at St. Mungo.

Luna had went into greater detail, more than she did in Hadrian's presence, about her Housemates and their bullying. Yvanna had scoffed at that word, for it barely sufficed for what they had done to the girl, nearly irreparably damaging her self-esteem, nearly fracturing her mind with the forced isolation, before she had found Hadrian. Then the girl's face gained a dreamy quality to it, her eyes looking somewhere off into the distance, as she recounted how Hadrian taught her to hide the hurt that she still felt, at the time, whenever harsh words were spoken to her. Then he taught her how to care less and less, until none of it reached her anymore. He did it by diminishing their worth in her eyes, proving, whether with his wand or his sharp tongue, that they were the unworthy ones of Rowena's House, that they were petulant children, malicious and starved for attention, be it gained from negative or positive actions against someone. To Yvanna, she confessed the thrill of content, or was it pleasure, when one girl exhibited open fear in Hadrian's presence, when his eyes barely passed over her, his face remaining unchanged but for the slightest of smiles, his wand twirling between his fingers.

She told her of the Dueling Club and Hadrian's prowess, his skill in evading, dueling, humiliating the opponents that earned it all during his time at Hogwarts. Yvanna wasn't sure whether the girl was aware of this, but there was adulation clearly displayed on Luna's face when she talked of how he disposed of some Gryffindors on the dueling platform, each being humiliated with just a single spell, until the most roundish of the cats stepped up to the stage, their pride and joy, the Boy-Who-Lived, and left it, in great pain, after suffering a barrage of spells. Her little one. That affectionate nickname she had for him was proving to be insufficient the more time passed. Was he aware that soon enough, perhaps before next year even arrived, he would start to reach, in height, past her stomach when she pulled him back into an embrace, his head resting on something a bit more softer than its previous spot? Oh how she would tease him for it, even though none of it would mean anything, it would surely bring out a tinge of color upon his cheeks.

And this girl. Luna. What an appropriate name for the silver beauty. Was she aware that Hadrian would become her sun, the source of all her illumination, the cause for her own growth? She, like the moon that her name staked claim to, would become more strong, absorbing his words, his gestures, reflecting all that he would give her. On some level, perhaps, she would know. Right now, this was an innocent relationship between the two, just the two friends that needed each other, without realizing it. Only now did Yvanna understand Luna's words about how his magic felt, some remains of it still clinging to her, allowing for a small tingling to persist on her senses whenever he used his wand for some basic spellwork around her, whether it was summoning a brush for the girl to comb her hair, or vanishing the few stains and crumbs from their table once breakfast was done with. If this is what it felt like for some minor wandwork, what did the silver-haired girl feel, and _see_, when he employed the hexes and curses that came so effortlessly to him?

* * *

When time for lunch had approached, Yvanna bid them eat only some light nourishment, reminding them of the surprise that she mentioned earlier. It was not until the clock had struck six that Yvanna told them, in the privacy of Hadrian's room, of what she planned for them on this day of days. Before going any further with the unveiling of her plans, she lowered herself a bit down and kissed Hadrian on his cheek, leaving the poor boy confused and flushing with color at the unexpected gesture, before saying two simple words.

"Happy birthday."

Luna had been feigning ignorance of what was planned for today, and so she sprung her own surprise kiss on the cheek as well, before she said the same two words that Yvanna had spoken only moments before.

"Happy birthday."

Then she averted her gaze, muttering something about being sorry for not getting him a present, a state of bashfulness which did not last before she felt his arms around her and his mouth by her ear, saying how he needed nothing from her and never would, nothing but her continuing friendship. So now both of them sported the scarlet colors on their pale skin, a fact for which Yvanna teased them quite viciously. Both of the witches felt the change in the air as a familiar presence wrapped them in a covering of warmth and affection, the extensions of Hadrian's will.

There was almost unnoticeable trembling his shoulders, his hands pressing so hard against his knees, knuckles going nearly white. Something he could not force himself to do remained trapped inside, and instead he poured everything into his magic, all of the emotions that he felt for the two witches before him, careful so as to not inflict discomfort.

Yvanna laid out yet another surprise on him. It was such a simple thing in appearance, just a normal looking, transparent vial, filled with some dark-red liquid, and a stopper preventing any spillage.

"A gift, Hadrian," Yvanna answered his unvoiced question, the one so obviously displayed in his eyes, "One that you will be allowed to do with as you wish, when we return here."

His interest in the vial slightly waned, as another thing piqued his curiosity, "Return here?" he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Tut, tut, my little one, have you forgotten your dear friend's lesson already?" she teased him, mock-scolding expression on her face, "Despite this day being such a momentous occasion, being the day of your birth, I can most definitely assure you that, sadly, that is not the reason why some witches and wizards will be out and about, celebrating this day."

A cog's movement forward and his memory provided the answer, "Lughnasadh," he whispered breathlessly.

* * *

It was a solemn affair, in the end. But the part that led to the end had been majestic. No, it was too crass of a word, not nearly potent enough to describe the events of the night. That was the only regret of the day he had, that it had not lasted as long as it could have, _should have_, but Yvanna was very clear on the matter and there was no budging her mind away from that stance.

Before the clock had come close to striking nine, the summer sun shone crimson-yellow in the sky, reaching horizon's end with every passing minute. Sunset to sunset. That was how it was meant to be. Theirs was only the sunset and the midnight. It was enough for now.

An unremarkable spot is how some might have described it. Had it not been for the moderately large group of people, all dressed in a variety of robes, coats, dresses and other rather outdated clothing, it would have remained untouched. And to an outside observer it would have been like one of those stories that parents told their children, where a straying from the clear path in the woods might lead you upon a revel of otherworldly beings, all fit to seduce the weary travelers and take away their memories or put them in a slumber for an unusual amount of years.

There was no sound here, but the music could have been imagined. It was almost like a procession, where splinters of the group would go towards the highest point of the hill, carefully digging through the soft soil with their bare hands, dividing the earth until an offering was placed into the hole, and then buried when the mounds of earth swallowed it underneath.

Some spoke the words, some did not. Some did not know the words, their intent supplying what they lacked in voice.

There was laughter.

There was joy.

There was content.

There was magic.

A feast of black berries. Each piece of fruit ingested was more than it was on this day of days, the taste enhanced, a veiled sensation placed within them all, more than just their taste buds were provoked into stirring. From the bushes they were harvested, there remained a trail of feet, many feet in the dirt, a previously desolate, in living presence, land now encroached by human hands. Each little fruit was devoured, each carrying a piece of magic that this night covered them with all over.

The taste of fruit had been washed down with pure water, so clean, so chilly, yet bringing hidden warmth with it. Each person had come down from the hill, down to the hidden well, sinking their hands into the waters, striking their faces with it, drowning their tongues. Cleansing, some might have described it.

The night was so young, as young as some of the attendants were, when they had been told it was time to leave, despite that many others were staying for more things to come. Gentle words, words promising more with the next year, swayed the older of the two, and when they had been some distance away from the congregation, a _pop _sound in the air was the only thing that signified their leaving.

* * *

From that night forth, two very distinctive things had changed about him.

* * *

This was the first.

Since the sunset of the 31st 'till its midnight, Hadrian had experienced Magic. What he wielded with his wand was something of his making, his magic. This, however, surpassed all of that. It was sublime, it was everywhere and the humming of it permeated the air where they had gone to celebrate Lughnasadh, the humming mingling with everyone that was present, clinging to their presence, marking them as the ones that had shown some knowledge, some respect, towards something that could not be adequately described with simple words or contained as scholarly knowledge within the pages of books.

It was the first time when the tendrils leapt of their own free will, rising up in the air, without him losing sight, touch or sound. It was also when he was a bit envious of how Luna had perceived the whole event, her words after they retired back to _"Night Bird" _insufficient, stumbling in effort as to how to describe it to those that couldn't see it. At first, she had panicked, grabbing Hadrian by the arm, her grip so tight, her face etched with fear before it mellowed, before the blue in her eyes almost seemed to glow with the greyness that tried to mingle with it. She had spoken only a few words, the sights she had seen, the dance of Magic in the air, the content of such a gathering visible to her eyes alone.

Never before had he tasted a bilberry, nor harvested it from the shrubs that grew in soil that seemed to allow nothing else to grow and prosper. Yvanna had bade him wait until they had reached the hill, until they buried the first of the fruits of season, their minds focused solely on showing reverence to that which had made them different from the rest of the world. That one thing that had given them magic itself. Magic.

Never before had he tended the soil as on that night, the dirt barely bothering him. It was with tenderness, a gentility, that he parted the small patch of ground before him, before placing that one solitary offering, brushing his fingers against the fruit before covering it with the dirt he had excavated minutes ago.

A burial for the future. A planting of the future. A planting of another summer to come.

Until then his magic had remained dormant, though alert, the numerous other witches and wizards that came to the same hill making him feel slight discomfort before it melted away once the last handful of dirt was laid over the spot.

Then the humming started. It sounded more real than just the illusory sensations his magical perception would procure to him. It sounded like serenity contained within that single, unchanging note. Then the coils expanded, far more than he could have thought they ever could or would.

And from that sprang the tendrils, as surely as plants spring into life when their time comes.

Luna had told him later about how they danced in the air, the tendrils, each one an individual entity, each one following some path, some pattern that he didn't understand nor could he control. Yet there was no rise of panic, of worry, that something might be manipulating him to do so. It had felt so _right_.

The touch of that first fruit on his tongue. It melted his taste buds, intensified everything that a regular bilberry might give, provoked him to a state of bliss. He was unaware of the satisfied smiles that Yvanna and Luna had given him when they saw the feeling so openly displayed on his face, before they too had placed the fruit in their mouths and shared in the pleasure of such a simple act.

Then the well's water. Splashing against his face, more refreshing than any of the showers he had taken and this one had only barely touched upon his skin. The gulping of it from the small amount gathered in his hand made him lose his composure and just dive into it, the invigoration it brought... there were sensations he had never experienced before.

And then it was over. So swift, so little, so... words are not enough to describe the ache he felt when they left.

Lughnasadh; spent with two witches that he trusted the most, that he cared about the most. Before they left the hill, the tendrils tasted the Magic once more, carrying with them more than just the memory of its presence.

* * *

This was the second.

Before him lay the vial, with its dark-colored liquid and the stopper that contained the secret. Yvanna had told him what it held within. Yvanna had told him the contents, the ingredients and the consequences.

It is for those reasons that he sat awake, long past since Luna had climbed into her bed and fell asleep, long past since he stayed by her side, lulling her to sleep with the tendrils that extended around her. She was such a sight, such a pleasant thing to behold, unfazed by any worry that might otherwise try to distress her mind and disrupt her usual dreamy countenance. The elevated state of Magic, that permeated more than just their senses, had remained with them, a buzz, a tingle, an electricity that ran through their cores and affirmed to their minds that the night they had just experienced was indeed real.

She had been so patient with him, sitting on his bed, her back against the cushion that protected it from the wall, and pulling him into an embrace, one more complete than any she had provided before. He felt like such a child then and there, while a part of him tried to tell him it was natural and not a bad thing to feel at all.

Had he been a child raised in a better environment, he might have voiced some things that he felt for the older witch, especially after such a night, he might have prolonged the embrace. Instead, he broke away and went to sit on one of the other chairs in the room, while she remained on the bed, looking at him with those oceans of blue.

After a while of comfortable silence had passed, he asked the question that had been shunted to the side ever since they'd been told where they were going.

"Will you tell me now?" he asked, his gaze shifting between the vial on the desk and Yvanna on the bed, "What the vial contains, I mean."

"Mmhm, do you remember what I promised you, little one, in that first summer when you arrived here?" her voice was gentle, and the words brought confusion to Hadrian before she elaborated, "I told you I would look into a spell or perhaps a potion that would help you with your eyesight."

"This is it?" Hadrian asked, his eyes locked onto the, suddenly, fragile-looking vial.

Yvanna hadn't missed the sudden glimmer in Hadrian's eyes and rewarded the child's bubbling curiosity with a soft laughter, "Indeed, that is _it_. And quite a potent concoction it is, little one. But," a short pause in which Hadrian forced his gaze away from the vial and onto Yvanna, unused to seeing the older witch in such a pensive state, "There is a cost to it."

There was an urge to shift in the chair he sat, the way the words were spoken implied something he could not have anticipated to hear from her, but while his mind pondered about the implication, his mouth acted and sought an answer to his query, "What kind of cost?"

Yvanna then moved away from the wall, placing herself on the edge of the bed and looked straight at him, "Pain," the word left her mouth almost as a whisper.

Unconsciously, Hadrian licked his lips before asking, "How much pain?"

The older witch had now gotten up from the bed and stood in front of him, one of her hads coming to gently lay against his cheek, the intimacy of the moment making Hadrian's stomach turn to lead, while something _else_ brushed against his senses, "Too much. It is always as such with this," she moved her hand away from his cheek, a part of him regretting the loss of warmth, though the _else_ only rose in its intensity "It is not the only cost, Hadrian."

He partly opened his mouth to ask what the other cost might have been, before his senses were inflamed and it nearly provoked a gasp of pain from him, forcing him to shut his eyes for a moment, to somehow shut out the sensations that were now assailing him from everywhere. Then, it happened again. A touch on his cheek, the barest there could be, and everything was at peace, like the attack on his senses never happened. However, the sting remained and he was keenly aware of the lingering presence, _the taste_, of the magic that had nearly enveloped him mere seconds ago. Slowly, his eyes opened and he beheld a monster.

Scraps of the various muggle stories of wicked witches, that children are told of at an early age, fleeted through his mind while with his eyes he took in the appearance of Yvanna. She was still the same person that he had encountered two years ago, wearing the same dress she wore while Luna and he went with her to that unmarked place to mark the day, flowing, unruffled, clinging to her body in some places, loose in others, the dark colors intermingled with one another, while he sat there and was observed in turn. Yet her face seemed sharper, less known to him. These were not the gentle features of the witch that had took him in, that had helped him, time and time again, when he had not known a single soul in _this _world. Whatever he imagined he saw upon that blonde man's face, upon Greengrass', upon Moon's face, it was nothing compared to this. It paled, like the light of distant stars pales to the light of the one that shone above this world, showering it in its warmth, in its turnings, in its shadows. Here, in this moment, he was in the presence of a predator unlike any other, one that would devour him and spit out his bones without hesitation.

He wondered what a sight he must make, the smudges of dirt and grass that he knelt upon, earlier that night, while he buried the offering of the first fruit in the ground, staining his hands with dirt, before they were washed away in that hidden well. Was his shirt stained as well with something? Was he sweating? His senses gave off the feeling that he was in a furnace as he beheld the sight in front of him. His head went down, neck going slack, as if he was bowing before something he could not understand nor wished to.

When he had initially tasted the chaos that Yvanna held within, it was contained, controlled and serene in comparison to what his magical perception was telling him about the present state of it. Now, now the chaos was let loose and it was devastating for his self-control. Brick by brick, the wall he had built within himself was dissolving, the bricks melting or shattering with each new wave of chaos that struck against it. Despite it not bringing pain as it had moments ago, he could still feel the intensity, the craving, the desire, the allure that the _other_ magic in the room held within itself, craving for... what exactly?

"Yvanna...," he managed to voice after several failed attempts, his mind trying to reconcile what was happening to him, a part of it trying to scream, in futile effort, that he was being betrayed, somehow, in some way that he could not fully process.

"Hush, little one, and tell me the truth: do you feel it?" her words sounded wrong to his ears; gentle, yet cold; affectionate, but distant.

There was only one thing that she could be talking about, "You know I do," a few labored breaths later he added, "I told you I—"

"Not that, Hadrian. Look beyond _it_. Tell me the truth, little one, and look me in the eyes."

It was not a request, he understood as much, and so he tilted his head back, rising it to meet Yvanna's gaze.

_Malachites drowned in oceans._

"Tell me," she said again.

He didn't speak, not at first. Whether by reflex, instinct or something yet unknown to him, tendrils leapt from him, diving into the chaos that wanted to drown him.

Unwittingly, he closed his eyes, despite having no need to do so.

"I feel," he hesitated for a moment and no more, "A pull. I feel your magic trying to drown me," with every word spoken, his voice grew more confident, strength flowing from within the same place that made him seek out knowledge, that made him befriend a ghost, that made him a serpent in more than just other people's eyes, that made him embrace a serpent to his chest, that made him strike back at those who struck first, that made him befriend Luna, that made him utter a curse and watch a man scream in pain, "I _feel_ everything, Yvanna, " his eyelids lifted and Yvanna once more witnessed the burning malachites, "I feel the pull, the allure, the temptation, the grace, the fire, the cold, the waves of _everything_ and I feel _you_ in the midst of it all."

Upon hearing these words, Yvanna exerted some control on her magic, pulling it back within herself, while placing her hand again on his cheek, "My little one," she said, and Hadrian felt uncomfortable about the way she spoke the endearment this time, "You felt more than my magic this time, more than just me. You felt, sensed would be the right word, what I am."

"What you are?" he repeated, blinking and dispelling the flame within his dark green orbs, "What are you, Yvanna?"

"The little moonlight told me what they say about you, even if she would never mention it to you," Yvanna suddenly shifted away from his question and his annoyance showed openly on his face, "Shush, this has a point," she silenced him before he could voice anything, "My little one," there it was again, that knot in his stomach from the way she said it, "I am what they think you are."

"What?" confusion was back, mixed along with everything else he was feeling in this moment.

"When you jinx and hex those students at Hogwarts, whether for little moonlight's sake or an offense towards you, when you outright _curse_ them, tell me, my little one, what do you feel? When you trounce their misguided pride, accusations and prejudices with your wand and the spells you cast at them, tell me, what do you feel?" his silence continued, for whatever reason that may have been, but Yvanna would not allow him to stay silent on the matter, "When you cursed Gilderoy Lockhart, breaking his bones, spilling his blood, when you cursed that man just a few nights ago, heard him scream in agony, tell me, my little one, what did you _feel_?"

Hadrian shivered. The way Yvanna spoke of these things carried some kind of sensation of perverse beauty, one he could not comprehend, and he could almost imagine the approval that she withheld as she said the words, describing the things he had done in the vaguest of details. What had he felt?

"Peace," he whispered before continuing in a slightly more stable tone, no longer a whisper, "Satisfaction. The need...," he couldn't finish, what little he had already said was too much.

"The need for more," she finished for him, both of her hands now cupping his face, tilting it up towards hers, "My dear little one, what you feel is the slightest of pulls towards something greater than yourself, yet still only a part of your being. You feel it resonating within me, the barest of embers flickering into existence within you whenever you touch my magic, whenever you curse someone, for whatever reason, and enjoy it. My dear Hadrian," she paused here, her face the gentlest it has ever been, as if imparting unto him the most wonderful of things, "You have touched upon the Dark."

It sounded like a sentence to the boy's ears. Dark. How many times had they called him as such in the past two years? How little it meant to him. Meaningless word, though he could clearly hear the judgement behind it he never understood it, spouted at him by Weasley and some other Gryffindors. Even some Hufflepuffs. All because he wished to survive. All because he defended himself or struck back at those that struck first, albeit his was the greater intent, malice, viciousness and satisfaction to which he had confessed aloud only moments ago.

And here she was, a witch in which he trusted like no other, barring Luna, telling him she was what they accused him of.

What did it all truly mean?

Unaware he had voiced the thought aloud, hearing Yvanna's voice speak so clearly shook him from his momentary reverie, "More than you can imagine."

* * *

She had sat back on the bed, legs crossed, and beckoned him to sit beside her with a pat of her hand.

"There is so much that you need to know. So many things that you should have known, had your parents lived," for once the mention of his parents brought out no anger, only a diminished sense of longing for something he had been deprived of, "This, my little Hadrian, would not be among them."

Ever since this odd conversation began, Yvanna had started to use more endearments than ever before, each one provoking a response from within, a string of his heart tugged every time she said _'my'_, "Why?" he had finally asked after making sure that none of the turbulent emotions, that his heart was currently overwhelmed with, showed on the outside, "Why tell me all this then?"

Her response was a smile and the following words, "All this? All that I have told you is just the tiniest amount of what is out there," she waved her hand as if to indicate a hidden repository, or perhaps a whole world, of knowledge that was beyond his reach, "And I truly wish that there was no need for this talk between us two, you're still a child, who should have never had this imposed on you," Yvanna's face softened and only kindness radiated from the older witch, "But you do. Because you felt a thrill of pleasure when the man screamed," she paused here, waiting to see if there would be any refutation, but as the silence continued, so did she with her words, "Because you brushed against the Dark and what it holds for most who cling to it. Pleasure. Peace, you said. Why?"

"Why what?" he tried imposing some distance between them with his words, and failed miserably as she continued to dig into him, exposing something he had not shared with anyone.

"Why do you feel those things? Why did you use that curse and not a simple _Stupefy_, when it could have easily prevented him from encroaching upon little moonlight's presence?"

"Because...," he faltered, gritting his teeth and fearing an impeding headache, should he delay this further, he blurted out, "Because... I don't know! I don't know! He shouldn't have said those things, he shouldn't have touched her!" the last sentence spoken, almost snarled, as he looked her straight in the eye, his own eyes burning once more with conviction, with no regret for what he had done, "I wanted him to suffer," he whispered, and then proceeded to place his head in his hands, fingers rubbing against his temples.

Yvanna let him be for a few minutes, leaving him to cool off, to reassert some control over his breathing, over himself, before continuing her predetermined talk, "I cannot, in a single night, tell you everything that I wish for you to know, but I will do my utmost best that you understand it," her words brought confusion to Hadrian, so she clarified, "Hadrian, many witches and wizards go through life, having no actual inclination towards Light or Dark magics, though some subtle predispositions affect them. Not everyone who casts a curse, a Dark curse at that, will have the same experience as another person might. Some experience regret, remorse, self-loathing when it's all said and done. For everyone, it's different, yet there remains one element which is common to those who waste no second thoughts on what they had done: pleasure. Do not misunderstand me, Hadrian, and think that you are bound towards something inevitable, because you are not and you never will be. Choices, and this is important, are the only thing that we truly can claim as our own," a hand of her found its way to his chin, lifting his face up from his hands and turning it towards her once more for the next part, "Just because you have used a small part of that which we call Dark does not mean it ties you into some kind of predestined path. You are not bound, by invisible strings, by the things you have done to the Dark. Nor are you bound to the Light. There is a third path, to ignore both and simply live. There is no shame in that, wanting to live an uncomplicated life."

"Why? Why tell me anything at all then? Why not leave me ignorant?" there was almost a pleading note in his words as he asked the questions, as he asked for some form of reprieve.

"Because you would not stop, neither learning nor casting these spells. There would come a time when they would be the first incantations to spring to your mind, and you would remain blind as to why it would be so. You would perhaps, in the bliss of ignorance, degenerate, grow feral I dare say, more than you could if the knowledge was gained and earned the proper way. I cannot allow you to remain ignorant," she said imperiously and then her voice softened, "not when you are so young, so malleable to youth's mistakes which we all commit, sooner or later. Tell me, would you give up all the knowledge you have gained so far if that allowed you to completely ignore the temptations?"

There was no need for a reply, his eyes, the emotions that swirled inside, said it all, yet his throat gave voice to it anyway, "No."

"You always have a choice. Even now. With the potion, with me, with your future."

"The potion?" he asked.

"It contains the blood of a particular creature. A Dark creature at that. Yet the precious liquid, when mixed in with other ingredients, brings about an extremely effective restorative potion, helpful for curing a variety of ailments, but one particular effect, which is important for you, is the rejuvenation of eyes."

"What creature?" he felt a bit like a babbling infant, asking question after question, yet his curiosity could not be contained.

"A Chimaera, my little one," Yvanna answered, "A hybrid creature of sorts, head of a lion, body of a goat and a dragon's tail. Sounds vicious, does it not? It is vicious, bloodthirsty. And utterly Dark. Not without its purposes, though they are hard for _some_ to see," she made a small pause before continuing, "Chimaera blood is a very potent ingredient because it has altering, mutagenic even, properties. Do not look so surprised with my use of the word 'mutagenic', little one, for while our society may look outdated in terms of fashion and some appliances when compared to the muggle world, there are many other parts of the magical world which continue, steadily on, to develop. The word itself might not be one which you will see mentioned in your books, but it remains true nonetheless. Another altering ingredient, which I bring up solely for comparison's sake, is fluxweed. Fluxweed is an essential ingredient f—"

"For Polyjuice potion," he finished what she started to say and in the process evoked a smile from the witch by his side.

"Exactly. I see you have been taking good care of your gift," at the mention of this, the book that she had gifted to him in the previous summer, Hadrian's face darkened in expression and Yvanna sensed the child's magic, through the touch they still shared, shift from calm to an almost razor-sharp sensation, in abrupt motion, "Hadrian?"

He moved his head to the side, not looking at her, forcing her to reposition her hand from his chin to his shoulder, "I don't have it anymore."

In truth, she had expected the child to try and deflect the topic at hand somehow, yet he had not done so. Hadrian was dealing most admirably with what she imparting unto him, trying to offer him some mild guidance, though not too much due to her fear of unconscious bias seeping through, and was responding as well as he could have. So she asked him what had happened to the book, why it was no longer with him, since it was rather doubtful the boy would have thrown it away.

"Dumbledore," he hissed out the name, the disgust for it and the man who bore it obvious to her ears and eyes, "He took it from me. He," unintentionally his voice rose in volume, "He blackmailed me!"

"What?" she asked in disbelief at the thought of that old man doing something as foul as blackmailing a child.

After a few labored breaths, Hadrian whisked away her confusion, telling her of what had happened during the Yule holidays, how he had deducted, correctly so, that the three Slytherin students which approached him in the library weren't their true selves, but rather impostors. Major differences in behavior, posture and gestures, he said to her and left it at that. He had then asked Luna for her assistance, into bringing his Head of House to a place where he would lead them and confront the Polyjuiced students with the Potions Master's presence. Then the short wait, then their rightly deserved punishments. And then the meeting in the Headmaster's office.

It was Hadrian now who had felt the shift in the magic around him, a very subtle thing, the sudden and short-lasting illusory roar of the chaos that Yvanna kept contained passing through his own coils of magic. Her face was distorted with clear disgust for what she had learned, the previous disbelief having evaporated with the story she was now told. _'How dare he? A child!'_ her mind nearly screeched, while the silence on the outside continued and the chaos within continued to boil.

"I cannot say much on what this was about, other than an obvious bias for their precious Boy-Who-Lived," the way she said the hyphenated title spoke volumes on what she thought about it, and the child that bore it, in this moment, "But that man had no right to do that. Revolting. Disgusting," her words were lashings inflicted upon someone else, someone whom he hated, and it was futile for Hadrian to deny that he had enjoyed hearing it, "I cannot think of a word apt enough to describe how much of a failure he is for the position of Headmaster."

Silence once more reigned and Hadrian felt the urge to reposition himself, his legs aching a bit from sitting in the same position. He moved completely onto the bed, after taking off his shoes, and curled his legs beneath him as he sat. Yvanna looked at him oddly before doing the same, albeit more gracefully than he did.

"Shall I continue with my lesson?" she asked, an inflection of mirth flowing into her words.

The way she spoke did exactly what she aimed for, dispelling the temporary, proverbial, cloud over Hadrian's head and he nodded.

"As I was saying, Chimaera blood contains these properties which will help with the rejuvenation of the nerves in your eyes, thus ridding you of the need for glasses. But there is a cost, Hadrian. The blood of such a creature carries within it some essence of its own... I guess you could call it affinity, if you want, though for the Chimaera that would imply some form of choice, when there is none offered. It is a Dark creature, but unlike Thestrals, it is a violent one. At the very base level, it's an animal that's been, whether through someone's tampering or Magic's own design, created with certain impulses. If it was truly sentient, it might try to control those impulses, or not, but it isn't. It's an intelligent beast, quite so, but it never chose to be Dark. It was born as such. Understand, my little one, some would see it as evil, unthinking and cruel, when it is not. It has its own young, its mates, its own domain. When others cross into it, they react as their instincts tell them and attack them, which usually ends with the death of those who wandered near it, whether they did it consciously or not. That breeds further connection to the Dark it was already born with and mature Chimaeras, such as the one from whom this blood was harvested, carry much Dark potency within themselves."

Like the Baron, like Professor Snape, Yvanna had not outright told him what she wanted him to know, to understand, and instead guided him until he was ready to see the obvious result of such a conversation for himself.

"If I take the potion, does that mean that I...," he fumbled for the proper phrasing, not wishing to appear blunt, "I've made my choice?"

To his relief, Yvanna shook her head, "No, little one. It is not that simple, just the act of drinking one potion and 'poof' you've done something which cannot be reversed. It's never that simple. Nor easy," a hint of sadness entered her voice, "It will induce an effect in you however. It does not sway you one way or another, nor does it make you incapable of using other kinds of magic. But it does increase your own affinity towards it. Towards the Dark. Hadrian," she spoke his name softly, "I would not offer this to you if you had not shown me that there is some inclination for it within you, I would never deceive a child nor would I rob you of the choice. But a choice must be made."

"Why...," he began and stopped, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Yes?" she bade him continue.

"Why this potion then? Why not something else? Something which wouldn't.. sway my affinity?" the phrase seemed improper to him, too crude, but it was the only one he had.

Yvanna looked at him thoughtfully before she answered, "Because there isn't such a thing. Despite all the talk of the misguided Ministry and the general public, judging something because it is Dark in nature, proclaiming it dangerous and malevolent to all, does not mean it has no purpose or that it must all serve a malevolent one. The potion I gave to you is one such thing which falls outside of prejudice's range. It is Dark because it alters you permanently, on a deeper level than anything else, and such things are seen as immoral, or illegal, by the current times we live in. But why is it not immoral that you should live with a deficiency that can be cured?"

It sounded more like part of a speech than a question, yet Hadrian could not deny that he had been enthralled despite all the confusion and apprehension that colored this night-time conversation. Yvanna had spoken with passion, such as which he had never heard from her. The whole situation was multi-layered, confusing and infernally intriguing. Perhaps it was because of his muggle-upbringing that he was not offended by the notion of Dark, whatever that may truly be, the lack of the usual predetermined views that parents, unconsciously or consciously so, imprint onto their offspring. The only thing which he had imprinted upon his mind and being from the time spent with Dursleys was to never trust easily, never to accept a helping hand because it would be withdrawn at the last moment, never to trust the half-truths and outright lies which the adults continualy tried feeding him, thinking their years were an advantage and that he would succumb to their seniority.

Yet had he not trusted Yvanna? Did he not trust the Bloody Baron? Did he not trust Luna?

A woman who had admitted to him, freely, that she was what others considered a Dark witch. A witch that took him in and cared for him, for whom his magic had craved so much.

A silvery-shade of a man that had died long ago, who took him under his tutelage, who taught him the words and helped him understand that everyone had facades and masks.

And a lonely girl, for whom he had cast spells with malicious intent, for whom he would not hesitate to use whatever spell, whatever curse came to mind, to protect her. A girl who had stood up to others, who had thrown that wretched redheaded boy back into the wall with a movement of her wand, with the uttering of the spell, with the thorns that her appearance hid.

Even Vladimir came to mind in this state of introspection. He could not forget the man, how patient he was with Hadrian, how gently he had pressed the wand into his hand, _his wand_, that first moment of warmth flooding him when he touched upon the ebony.

Then there was Eagala. That beautiful creature, that magnificent reptile whom he, honestly, sometimes could not see as a separate entity. Even in this moment, she had remained still, a part of him, underneath the clothes, her scales bringing, with their perpetual motion, a state of calm that his mind sorely needed.

These were the exceptions, not part of the rules which governed his life so far.

So what now? What should he choose?

Whether he had, again, voiced a thought aloud or whether his face betrayed his thought, it didn't matter. Yvanna spoke the words that he needed to hear, though he did not know it himself.

"Anything you want, my dear Hadrian. One way or another, you won't lose me, I won't be pushed away, no matter what your choice might be in the end."

Looking into her eyes, that final string tugged, he knew the truth of those words, the truth of everything she had said, and what's more, his magic knew the truth as well. It nudged him, pushed him really, until he was in motion and did something which Yvanna could not have predicted, even in the wildest of visions of how this night could have ended.

He spoke no words, made no movement from the comfort that he had nestled himself into, only inhaling the scent, the scent of magic, the scent of _her_, vowing to himself, vowing to never lose her; a vow which drowned in the ocean of guilt that he felt for betraying the woman who gave birth to him, who died for him, while simultaneously hoping that she would understand, if not forgive. All Yvanna could do was to place her own arms around him, gently shifting herself until his head rested against her chest, allowing him to hear every beat of her heart, a smile unconsciously gracing her lips. A hand and its fingers soon lost themselves in the blackness that was his hair, and she cooed the sweet nothings and reassurances that all mothers gifted to their children when they still harbored fears of the dark.

By the time the first rays of sunlight had invaded the room, the two of them still locked into the embrace that the boy had initiated, his head pressing against her chest, the two breathing in perfect synchrony, the choice was no choice at all.

They only parted when the witch spoke to the boy, murmuring words down into his ear, his reply a nod to whatever it is she spoke. Moving to the edge of the bed, she allowed the child to lay on his back, while allowing his reptilian companion to leave from underneath his clothes. She left his side only for a moment, to fetch the vial from its place on the desk, and returned to kneel down by the bed, one of her hands tangled in the crow's nest that was his hair, in the pitch-blackness that was its color, while the other removed the glasses he wore before bringing the vial to his lips and gently pouring it all in.

It started slowly, building up in intensity, the tremors that ran rampant across the child's body increasing in strength. Moments later, had he been fully conscious of what followed, he would have been grateful to her for casting the privacy spells, insuring no sound escaped. There was molten fire in his veins, coursing through his blood, eliciting pain even from his muscles. What an odd sensation it must have been, traveling from the pit of his stomach, where it had barely settled seconds ago, and back up, as if it would come out spraying from his mouth. The liquid did not work in such a crude way, but the illusion persisted.

Without him truly understanding the process, every nerve in his body burned, every spot on his body, that he was aware of, ached, until the fire, _the poison, the cure,_ reached its intended destination.

The boy blinked once.

And the boy screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**12th of August, 1993**_

Again, she was forced to endure their presence, their looks, their touches. Filthy, that's how she felt every time they laid a finger on her. As if it wasn't enough to feign some kind of familial solidarity before guests, now she was forced to do so in public. Together, _"...like a proper family,"_ her father's voice rang in memory of that morning, they walked, easily recognized as the wealthy and noble pureblood family that they were.

In the front, her father and mother, like the prim and proper couple they were, Lord Cyrus and Lady Priscilla; what a sight they were. It was from her mother that she had inherited the color of her hair and the lips which would blossom into their fullness within the next few years, but the eyes, their slight slant and their color, the regal-like cheekbones and facial structure came from her father's side. It was one of the few things which she didn't despise outright despite it being something that came from them. Beauty was another form of power, if one knew how to use it, though admittedly she would consider taking advantage of her good looks only as a last resort.

She walked behind her parents, they barely paying any attention to her, through Diagon, the crowd unconsciously parting way for what their subconscious minds recognized as someone not to be trifled with. True, the Greengrass family was not as old as certain other families, but it was older than numerous other, minor, families that continually interbred between themselves. It was also a rather well-off family, one who knew where and when to invest its monies to keep it growing, which helped quite along in the modern society of wizards and witches that inhabited the British Isles. Money always did serve as the grease for many a wheel that needed external influence before being spun in motion.

It did not take long before they reached their destination, one of the more ostentatious shops, with prices to match, and settled into waiting. Outwardly, they appeared like a perfect pureblood and noble family. Inwardly each of them felt something different about this day. The youngest of the three still felt the indignation of this, being forced to venture into Diagon, into shopping for school supplies, when they could have simply used one of the House Elves to do it for them. After all, it was not an uncommon thing to happen for those who had the means. But there were special events, or rather circumstances, which demanded that their presence be shown to the world.

Even though she was young by the measure of how long a witch or wizard might live, Daphne Greengrass was keenly aware what more than just a few of the looks thrown her way had meant, causing the irritation within her to rise. Displayed, like a common trophy, a neat little thing to be snatched by those who fancied it in the heat of the moment. What with her long and straight blonde hair, glimmering in the sunlight, her jade-colored eyes, her bowed lips and the dress she wore, who in their sane mind would deny that she was anything but beautiful? A beauty to blossom even further in the coming years. It mattered very little that her face showed indifference, a certain sense of haughtiness perhaps, since it was expected from her and all those like her. It did little to stop the passing thoughts of passerbys as they made their way past the Greengrass family.

The older of the two adults, Priscilla Greengrass nee Rosier, stood out amidst the crowd that passed them by. After all, such beauty was rarely seen, even though her somewhat heavy-lidded eyes would occasionally diminish it in certain lighting, the dress she wore only accentuating her natural curves and the pleasant shape of her body, with the aristocratic face to top it all, as a jewel in a crown might brighten its less-precious parts. Her thoughts only focused on the event of today, when they would be joined here, soon, so very soon, by another family, bringing with them another member of their family which she sorely missed. The daughter that was standing behind her carried almost no worth in her mind, not even worthy of entertaining a thought to ask how she had fared at school or whether she was developing some alliances from which her family might further profit from. No, no such thoughts for the one who had lost nearly all worth years ago, with just that one disastrous situation.

Unknown to Lady Priscilla, her husband had been musing similar thoughts, yet vastly different. Today was to be a momentous day, for more than one reason. A day when his family would once more reaffirm its long-standing alliance with another prestigious, old and proper family. A day when his _true_ daughter would return and not the abomination that nestled in their home like a viper that should have been cast out or outright killed upon discovery of her heinous deeds. The irony of him considering _her_ a viper and being placed in Slytherin did not escape him, but it brought no mirth or joy to his mind. The girl was a liability and potentially volatile, no matter the constraints they had placed on her. Still, appearances had to be maintained and he would not repeat the mistakes of other families, exposing his family's shame, reducing their status in the political and social circles that governed their lives. The matter would be dealt with swiftly and in a short span of years. Yes, all would be right very soon, when his daughter, Astoria Greengrass, the true heiress, returned to the family fold.

* * *

Soon, too soon for some, the Greengrass family was joined by their highly anticipated arrivals. For appearance's sake, they walked as a family of five, though it was clear that one of them did not belong. The four that did belong sported the same coloration of hair, their platinum blonde, their mixture of gray and blue eyes, identifying them as the Malfoys. Lord Malfoy walked hand in hand with Lady Malfoy, both dressed as if venturing to a gala of sorts, and not to the common cobblestones of Diagon Alley.

Lucius Malfoy's each step was marked with the _tap tap tap _of his cane striking the ground, polished black wood and a serpent's head, silver the scales and rubies the eyes, while Narcissa Malfoy seemed more to glide than walk, such was her elegance. In truth, the two of them embodied everything what was considered a proper pureblood couple, more so than even the Greengrass family. Both dressed in the finest of clothing, one wearing a coat of deep and rich coloring, with some black fur-trimming, his long hair reaching past his shoulders, while the other, with her hair pulled into a style which held it above her neck, yet didn't constrict its lusciousness in any form, wore a dress made of Acromantula silk, clinging to her body in every way but betraying nothing of that which laid beneath.

Behind the proud parents walked two of their own children and a third child, a girl, which was not their own, but would become as such in time, one marked with the grey of her father's eyes, the other with the blue of his mother's, and the last with her mother's soft brown irises. The former wore a dress which might be compared to her mother's yet differentiating enough to show off that the Malfoys would never lower themselves to cheap mimicry of beauty and elegance, but rather of striving to create their own unique standards for it. The latter was dressed in an odd mix of robe and coat, reaching just a bit past his knees, nearly all of it in his future's House colors. And the last was dressed as elegantly as the Lady Malfoy and her daughter, wanting to show them her gratitude for a wonderful summer that she spent at their home.

Delinda Malfoy felt no shame in walking slightly behind her mother and father, unlike her first time to Diagon, when she walked in front of them, being displayed as the rare thing of proper breeding that she was. There was some slight irritation to be found, if one dug deep enough, for walking just a minute, almost unnoticeable, distance behind her brother and his betrothed. She calmed herself quite easily when comparing the Greengrass girl to herself, noting that the girl was still a child, while she was slowly blossoming into something magnificent like her mother. It was quite easy to maintain the facade of a well-mannered daughter when you knew that those around you couldn't even begin to compare.

Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass walked hand in hand, as befit those who were betrothed from an early age, not because it was some crude display of affection, but rather marking their awareness of their status to one another, no matter that they were of such young age. There was some care, gentility, even a few faint smiles exchanged towards one another, but they never forgot their place, and walked solemnly, with great pride, behind the boy's father and mother. They looked quite well together, her strawberry and his platinum, blondes combined, their skins bearing just the lightest of tans that they had acquired during the summer's travels in Europe. _'What a lovely sight'_ was the thought that passed through many passerby's head when they saw the two.

And such a gathering, Greengrass and Malfoy, was an uncommon sight for the common cobblestones of Diagon. While seeing one or the other would not be all that much, the two combined, greeting one another rather openly... well, suffice to say that there would be busy mouths running their tongues, until they ran dry.

* * *

For one Astoria Greengrass, today was truly a grand day. Pushing aside the fact that she was reunited with her mother and father, that her betrothed was here with his family, she gloried in the fact that her sister was here as well. For her, it was never enough to know with certainty that one day she would collect her dues, and the presence of her sibling, so subdued, so unlike at how she used to be, was something beautiful to behold.

The day had started off with the usual preamble that happened whenever two families of certain standing met. Words danced, veiled meanings, small gestures... all these things exchanged. All of it in good spirit, of course, their ingrained habits rising to the surface even when faced with someone who were the parents of your child's betrothed. After they were done with the posturings, the two families went on and did what they came here for.

The clothes, the books, the school equipment, the potion ingredients, all of it ordered and bought before the sun had begun to slowly head beyond the horizon. Then the wands.

To Draco Malfoy, a wand of ivory-like appearance, when in truth it had been hawthorne, its core unicorn hair, was bestowed, having been found rather quickly, after only several wands had passed through his hand, until finally sparks of magic erupted from the wood, signifying a bond between the wand and its wizard.

To Astoria Greengrass, a branch of walnut, molded into wand-shape, the heartstring of a Peruvian Vipertooth settled in its hollow space, making them all, Greengrass and Malfoys, witness the strength of the bond, between the witch and her wand, when it produced a crackle, followed by familiar, though higher in intensity, sparks of magic coming out of the wand tip.

Both of them received high praise from their parents and siblings, both of them eager to test out the limits of what their magic could do.

* * *

One among them sorely wished that she could test out the limits of her magic, when it became fully unbound, as it was always meant to be. She had been forced to act the part of a subservient before those who knew of what she had done. Had she the liberty to act like she wanted to, she would have scoffed at them all, even the adults, before demonstrating to them how 'subservient' her true nature was. It was such a temptation to reach out when her sibling had reached out for the wand and it bonded to her, to reach out and snap it in half. To laugh in her face at the newly-formed and freshly-broken bond that she inflicted upon her.

Always. Always it stirred the hunger within her, the flame fanned higher and brighter than it had ever been, when she was forced to be in her presence. How arrogant she was, believing the magic, that Daphne claimed as her own, would remain forever bound. Soon, sooner than any of them could anticipate, she would be free, free to escape the wretched gilded cage that others saw as her family. So she played her part. The subservient, the obedient, the occasionally awe-struck child, the sycophant even, which disgusted her very being. That was not the true her, it never would be. Not with anyone. Not for anything. So she played the role that was assigned to her. For now.

Her mind, withdrawn as it was into herself, registered that the undeserved praises heaped upon her sibling had finally stopped and that the old wand-maker had gone up to each and every one of them, inquiring as to how their wands performed. When the man came up to her, smelling of dust, wood, leather and unopened boxes, he posed a question to her that she did not initially hear, and he saw the unvoiced requirement for him to repeat the question on her face.

"I say, Miss Greengrass, your wand... does it serve you well?"

What could she tell the old man? The truth? The wand did serve her well, it was a truth of sorts, but not the whole truth. Always she felt the constraints that prevented her reaching into more than just what _they_ allowed her. Always the limits. Always bound.

"Well enough," she said with a false and neutral smile that masked all that she truly felt.

"Hmm, yes, 'well enough' indeed," he replied, a hidden meaning easily perceived behind the words, as a frown appeared on his face.

The statement had apparently reached the ears of her parents as well, prompting them into bidding their farewells to the wand-maker and leaving the shop behind, while managing to cast subtle reprimanding glares at Daphne, of which she took none to heart.

Though the others had paid a rather exuberant amount of attention to Daphne's sibling, they weren't as observant as she was. There was a need welling up inside Daphne to damn the consequences and try to hex or curse the tug on Astoria's lips, to let loose for once, as she was always meant to, and enjoy freedom. It would be a short lasting freedom, and that one act would place her under even firmer restrictions, not to mention it would draw attention upon herself from other eyes. So she kept the impassive, indifferent mask in place, the glacier of the mind hardening around the flame of her hunger, while her magic simmered under the surface, wanting, _begging,_ to be released in an unending flow of spells.

She could do none of those things. Not yet. _'Soon, very soon,'_ she crooned to that hidden part of herself, easing her magic into serenity. Her self-control back in place, she managed to keep a steady pace behind others, not too distant, but just distant enough to display, somehow, anyhow, her distaste for the people in front of her.

Next came the early dinner. It was in one of the many luxurious restaurants that littered Diagon's, sometimes seemingly endless, pavement. Fortunately, the Malfoys had agreed with her parents about dining on the outside, rather than inside, and thus she would have enough distractions for her wandering mind, directing her eyes at everyone that might pass by or the shops that laid near. It was more of an automaton behavior than any conscious thought to follow them to their tables, to sit there and wait, with grace, for the waitress to appear and for each of them to place an order. Barely brushing her gaze against the menu, she ordered herself some sweet delicacy, hopeful that perhaps the enjoyment of the light meal might distract her yet again from her sibling and the things she craved to do to her face with her hand, wand or magic.

The buzzing of conversation going on about around her did not faze her, a ready facade in place as her eyes wandered around, drinking up every detail she could. _There_; a man and a woman, obviously companions of some kind, their hands squeezed together with great affection, smiles shared openly, laughter following soon after. _There_. An elderly witch with many a young wizard's eye following her movements, some with open desire, some with sly looks,. _There. There. There. The—_

Suddenly, her face nearly blanched from the onslaught that would crush her under its weight, should it not relent. A roaring inferno that threatened to soak her in sweat as if she had just walked out of a steam room. Eardrum-shattering crackling surrounded her. The wave of something completely unknown, so alluring, so wretched, _so familiar_, against her senses. It took every bit of what little of her self-control remained, the people that sat around her as irrelevant as the meal she had ordered, not to let out some kind of audible admission of her distress, to let _them_ know something was happening to her. Her eyes, had anyone paid attention to them in this moment, were maddening in their search for the source of all of this. _There._ No, not there. _There._

At first, she refused to believe her eyes. It was the eyes, you see. Some would say eyes are the windows to the soul. What do they say when the windows are obscured? Only allowing occasional glimpses, and even then one could not be sure of what they had seen. Yet now, she knew what she was seeing, her other senses had been telling her as much, but her eyes were the ones that told her all that she needed to know. Those were familiar eyes, no longer contained within the black glass-frames she was so familiar with, though the face was framed by another kind of black, strands of it falling over his face, which almost seemed to shine, mixed as it was with the perspiration that was shimmering on his forehead, _drip drip drip_ dripping down to the cobblestones of Diagon.

She had heard how others described them occasionally. Emeralds, malachites, jade even, and how she had laughed at the last description, especially when they would bring up her own eye coloration as well, speculating whether they could be distant cousins of a sort. Familiar eyes, yes, yet not so. Not anymore. Even from such a distance, she could see them, shining, but still remaining dark as they ever were, and her imagination supplied the illusion of them burning. Even from such a large distance, the rest of the world didn't matter, losing in noise, color and focus, while he became the main object of her piercing eyes. With her roaming gaze she took in his appearance, while he took shallow breaths, an obvious strain on his own facade and something else displayed clearly on his face, something which she had never truly seen before. The assault on her senses continued, as wave after wave of the familiar oppressiveness, yet somewhat different, continued to reach her, clashing against the glacier that she had allowed to rise around her, though the strength of each would abate in intensity, barely enough to allow her to impose more control on herself, thus preventing her own breathing from becoming erratic and as shallow as his.

It should not have been possible. Being in the classroom on that day before he changed again and being in the train compartment was one thing, the close proximity and the circumstances, then and there, allowed for her to feel him clearly, to sense his magic in its most undiluted form. But now, when he was more than just a few desks away, when he was far more distant than just sitting across her, he continued, unknown to him of having this effect on her, to pulsate, like a flame might appear as such to a moth, who would unknowingly, to itself, continue on its path, only to be devoured by the ever-hungry fire. No matter what was the cause of this, she _needed_ for him to stop it, to control himself, lest she lose all control of herself. The strength, the intensity, _the pull_, had somewhat lessened, but wave after wave kept clashing and crashing into her, decreasing in the time span between each of them, each crashing into her with no mercy and the intensity slowly began rising again, threatening to crack her masks and display, to those around her, her weakness.

And then it was gone, causing the world around her to come back in focus, nearly eliciting a reaction from her as her senses were now assaulted merely by the visual and auditory input provided by the mundane, rather than her own magical perception. She would have let out a breath of relief if it was possible to go unnoticed by those around her. With that thought in mind, she took a quick look at those that sat near her, watching their faces, observing whether she had been watched for however long the sensation had lasted. Seeing no worry, no disdain, no reprimand on any of them, she returned her focus on the person who nearly caused her to lose all semblance of dignity in such a public place.

It was then that she noticed the two people that had appeared by his side, emerging from the building behind him, one of them known to her, the first-year Ravenclaw witch, Luna Lovegood, and another of whom she had no knowledge whatsoever. The former stood by his side, before one of her hands found themselves in his, and Daphne could barely restrain the twinge of irritation that she felt for witnessing such a thing happening. The latter was clearly an older witch, though her appearance seemed youthful enough, yet one known to both him and the Lovegood girl, for she soon laid her own hands on the boy's shoulders, making him stand up straight and telling him something, which Daphne couldn't possibly even begin to guess what it was, to calm him further down. With Lovegood's hand still in his, the other witch positioned herself behind him and allowed her hands to slide down to his chest before pulling him into an odd sort of embrace.

It was quite a sight for her to witness, such an unusual thing from the boy who was so distant from them all, despite how closer she had stalked her way to him on the train. Never before she had seen his face relax so much and so quickly, allowing itself to whisk away whatever strain he was feeling and transfigure it into a smile of sorts. Their lips moved and soon enough, _too soon_, the odd trio vanished from sight, indicating that the older witch had Disapparated with the other two, to Morgana-knows-where. This presented yet another unknown quantity to her about the boy that she meant to fully take advantage of in the coming school year. Pushing aside the unknown witch by his side, the casual way with which she moved him into an embrace, indicating that she was one of the few allowed some sort of physical contact with him, him who never allowed others to encroach into his personal space, let alone touch him, Daphne wondered what could have possibly caused such a reaction within one Hadrian Potter. What had he learned within the marble-halls of Gringotts that spiraled him out of control, nearly pulling her into the temporary madness as well?

* * *

Despite the best efforts of Daphne Greengrass to keep it concealed, her wandering eyes did not go unnoticed by one person. She was never content, like her parents, to rely solely on the bindings and the contract, though the latter was all her careful doing. After all, what loving and caring parent wouldn't want to protect their daughter, their heiress, in every possible way, while ensuring that anyone who had harmed her got their rightly deserved dues? No, say or think what you will about Astoria Greengrass, but she was never one for allowing too much freedom to her older sibling, believing, and rightly so, that if she ever got anywhere near it, the backlash that would follow would leave Astoria in a rather damaged state. If not something worse.

So there before her lay a quandary; who was the black-haired boy that her sister felt compelled to observe? She could not notice much about him, only stealing a discreet glance or two in his direction, nothing made him stand out from this distance and Astoria would not risk a more inquisitive glance lest the others shift their eyes to that direction as well, thus alerting Daphne that the object of her curiosity had been spotted. Perhaps a boy from school? She doubted that her sibling could have seen or met him somewhere else, having not been allowed to venture outside of their home without supervision and it was not even an option that either their mother or father would have allowed her that much liberty. That narrowed down the options significantly, and knowing that she was in Slytherin, narrowed it even further. Could it be her sibling fancied the boy? Could it have been a friend perhaps? As the thought wormed its way through Astoria's head, a wicked smile was prevented from bursting out. Maybe she could have some fun with her dear sister this year. Boys were not particularly difficult to manipulate, her mother had taught her well enough, even her betrothed could be twirled around her little finger whenever she wanted it. And what better way to cause some justly-deserved grief to Daphne than by taking something away from her, something which she valued enough to be distracted with in present company? She should have known better.

What a year this would be.


End file.
